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Literature 

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LITERATURE FOR THE 
STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

AS REQUIRED BY THE COURSE OF STUDY FOR 
THE COMMON SCHOOLS OF NORTH DAKOTA 

ARRANGED BY 

R. M. BLACK 

FOR THE COMMITTEE ON COURSE OF STUDY 







HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

Boston : 4 Park Street ; New York : 85 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago : 378-388 Wabash Avenue 

Cbe jaitjerjjiDe pre?? Cambribge 



OFFICIAL ENDORSEMENT 

The publication of this book was approved and endorsed 
by the Standing Committee of Superintendents on the North 
Dakota State Course of Study, and by the Department of 
Public Instruction for use in connection with the work in 
Reading and Language in the Course of Study for the 
Common Schools of North Dakota. 



.£4 3 



UBHARY of OON««E«S: 
Iwu QoDles Hece)y4« 

Stf 5 l»<i8 
I ooPY a; ^ 



COPYRIGHT IQO8 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



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PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

A Course of Study for the common schools of 
North Dakota was issued by the Department of Public 
Instruction in 1898. In 1903 this first Course of Study 
was quite materially revised by a committee of six 
from the County Superintendents' Section of the 
North Dakota Educational Association. 

In November, 1907, another revision was made by 
the Standing Committee of Superintendents, composed 
of W. L. Stockwell, State Superintendent of Public 
Instruction; R. M. Black, County Superintendent of 
Richland County ; Dalton McDonald, County Super- 
intendent of McHenry County; F. M. Sherarts, 
County Superintendent of Pembina County; F. V. 
Hutchinson, County Superintendent of Ransom 
County ; and Minnie J. Nielson, County Superintend- 
ent of Barnes County. 

By this committee the work on language was thor- 
oughly revised, a great many of the elective poems 
were eliminated, and quite definite selections were 
made for each of the nine months in the course from 
the third to the eighth year inclusive. It was thought 
best to give the pupils as wide acquaintance as time 
and thoroughness will permit with the best literature, 
and some prose selections were also included. 

As it was a difficult matter to procure this required 
material from so many different authors and publish- 
ers, it was deemed advisable to have all the required 
selections published in an inexpensive and convenient 



ii PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

volume. To meet the demand for such a volume, 
Hottghton Mifflin Company, as the authorized pub- 
lishers of the greater number of the selections, have 
undertaken the publication of a book containing the 
material required by the Course of Study. 

It was thought best by the committee not to include 
specific suggestions for the study of these classics, but 
to leave each teacher free to employ her own methods. 
Some suggestions may be found in the Course of 
Study. Also the biographies of authors are omitted, 
and the teacher is referred to some of the splendid 
complete biographies now easily obtainable. In the 
abridged selections given, the wording of the author 
is followed so far as abridgment permits. 



CONTENTS 

THIRD YEAR 

PAOB 

First Month 

September Helen Hunt Jackson 1 

Second Month 

October's Bright Blue Weather 

Helen Hunt Jackson 2 

Third Month 

The Corn-Song John Greenleaf Whittier 3 

Fourth Month 

The First Snow-Fall James Russell Lowell 5 

Fifth Month 

Winter-Time Robert Louis Stevenson 7 

Sixth Month 

The Children's Hour 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 7 

Seventh Month 

March William CuUen Bryant 9 

Eighth Month 

The Ugly Duckling 

Hans Christian Andersen 10 

Ninth Month 

The Brook Alfred, Lord Tennyson 16 



IV CONTENTS 

FOURTH YEAR 

First Month 

The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier 19 

Second Month 

Benjamin Franklin as a Boy 

Nathaniel Hawthorne 22 
Dutch Lullaby Eugene Field 26 

Third Month 

The Village Blacksmith 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 28 

Fourth Month 

The Sparrows Celia Thaxter 30 

Fifth Month 

Snow-Bound (Selections : — The Storm ; The 
Kitchen Scene) John Greenleaf Whittier 32 

Sixth Month 

Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes 35 

Our Heroes Phoebe Gary 36 

Seventh Month 

I Remember, I Remember Thomas Hood 37 

Eighth Month 

The Voice of Spring Felicia D. Hemans 38 

Ninth Month 

The Leak in the Dike Phoebe Gary 41 

Seven Times One Jean Ingelow 46 

FIFTH YEAR 

First Month 

Barbara Frietchie John Greenleaf Whittier 48 



CONTENTS V 

Second Month 

Sheridan's Ride Thomas Buchanan Bead 51 

Third Month 

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in 
New England Felicia D. Hemans 53 

Fourth Month 

Little Gottlieb Phoebe Gary 54 

Christmas Everywhere Phillips Brooks 68 

Fifth Month 

The Sword of Bunker Hill 

William Ross Wallace 59 

Sixth Month 

Abraham Lincoln William Cullen Bryant 60 

Seventh Month 

The Star-Spangled Banner 

Francis Scott Key 61 
America Samuel Francis Smith 62 

Eighth Month 

Paul Revere's Ride 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 63 

Ninth Month 

The Blue and the Gray 

Francis Miles Finch 68 

SIXTH YEAR 
First Month 

Gluck's Visitor (First Visit) John Ruskin 71 

Second Month 

Maize, the Nation's Emblem 

Celia Thaxter 76 
The Story of Mondamin (From The Song 
of Hiawatha) 

genry Wadsworth Longfellow 77 



• 

VI 


CONTENTS 




Third Month 






Thk Cloud 


Percy Bysshe Shelley 


81 


Fourth Month 






Christmastide 


Richard Burton 


84 



Fifth Month 

King Solomon and the Ants 

John Greenleaf Whittler 84 
Snow-Bound (Selections : — The Mother ; The 
Sisters \ The Schoolmaster) 

John Greenleaf Whittier 86 

Sixth Month 

Washington (From Ode to Napoleon Buon- 
aparte) Lord Byron 91 

Seventh Month 

The Wreck of the Hesperus 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 


92 


The Legend of the Crossbill 




Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 


96 


Eighth Month 




The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet 




Henry van Dyke 


97 


To A Waterfowl William Cullen Bryant 


99 



Ninth Month 

The Bivouac of the Dead 

Theodore O'Hara 101 
The Yellow Violet William Cullen Bryant 104 

SEVENTH YEAR 

First Month 

YussouF James Russell Lowell 106 

The Charge of the Light Brigade 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 107 



CONTENTS vii 

Second Month 

The Shepherd of King Admetus 

James Russell Lowell 109 

Third Month 

Wendell Phillips James Russell Lowell 111 

Fourth Month 

The Present Crisis James Russell Lowell 111 
The Huskers John Greenleaf Whittier 117 

Fifth Month 

Ode recited at the Harvard Commemora- 
tion James Russell Lowell 120 

Sixth Month 

Those Evening Bells Thomas Moore 134 

Seventh Month 

The Oak James Russell Lowell 134 

Eighth Month 

To THE Dandelion James Russell Lowell 136 

Ninth Month 

To William Lloyd Garrison 

James Russell Lowell 138 

EIGHTH YEAR 

First Month 

The Recessional Rudyard Kipling 141 

Second Month 

Abraham Davenport 

John Greenleaf Whittier 142 
The American Flag Joseph Rodman Drake 144 

Third Month 

For an Autumn Festival 

John Greenleaf Whittier 146 



viii CONTENTS 

The Chambered Nautilus 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 148 

Fourth Month 

The Death of the Old Year 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 150 
Flower in the Crannied Wall 

Alfred, Lord Tennjson 152 

Fifth Month 

The New Year John Greenleaf Whittier 152 

The Frost Spirit John Greenleaf Whittier 158 

Sixth Month 

Ichabod John Greenleaf Whittier 159 

Sir Galahad Alfred, Lord Tennyson 160 

Crossing the Bar Alfred, Lord Tennyson 163 

Seventh Month 

The Little Land Robert Louis Stevenson 164 

Eighth Month 

The Return of the Birds 

William CuUen Bryant 166 
For A' That and A' That Robert Burns 168 

Ninth Month 

Song of the Chattahoochee Sidney Lanier 170 

My Native Land (From The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel) Sir Walter Scott 171 

INDEX OF AUTHORS 173 

INDEX OF TITLES 176 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS .... 177 



LITERATURE FOR THE STUDY 
OF LANGUAGE 



THIRD YEAR 

SEPTEMBER i 
Helen Hunt Jackson % 

The golden-rod is yellow ; 

The corn is turning brown ; 
The trees in apple orchards 

With fruit are bending down. 

The gentian's bluest fringes 5 

Are curling in the sun ; 
In dusty pods the milkweed 

Its hidden silk has spun. 

The sedges flaunt their harvest, 

In every meadow nook ; 10 

And asters by the brook-side 
Make asters in the brook. 

From dewy lanes at morning 
The grapes' sweet odors rise ; 

At noon the roads all flutter 15 

With yellow butterflies. 

By all these lovely tokens 

September days are here, 
With summer's best of weather, 

And autumn's best of cheer. 20 

^ Used by permission of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., the 
authorized publishers of Helen Hunt Jackson's writings. 



2 THIRD YEAR 

But none of all this beauty 

Which floods the earth and air 

Is unto me the secret 

Which makes September fair. 

'T is a thing which I remember ; 26 

To name it thrills me yet ; 
One day of one September 

I never can forget. 

OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER > 
Helen Hunt Jackson 

O SUNS and skies and clouds of June, 

And flowers of June together, 
Ye cannot rival for one hour 

October's bright blue weather. 

When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, 5 

Belated, thriftless, vagrant, 
And Golden-Kod is dying fast. 

And lanes with grapes are fragrant : 

When Gentians roll their fringes tight 

To save them for the morning, 10 

And chestnuts fall from satin burrs 
Without a sound of warning ; 

When on the ground red apples lie 

In piles like jewels shining, 
And redder still on old stone walls 15 

Are leaves of woodbine twining ; 

^ Used by permission of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., the 
authorized publishers of Helen Hunt Jackson's writings. 



THIRD YEAR 3 

When all the lovely wayside things 
Their white-winged seeds are sowing, 

And in the fields, still green and fair, 

Late aftermaths are growing ; 20 

When springs run low, and on the brooks, 

In idle golden freighting. 
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush 

Of woods, for winter waiting ; 

When comrades seek sweet country haunts, 25 

By twos and twos together, 
And count like misers hour by hour, 

October's bright blue weather. 

O suns and skies and flowers of June, 

Count all your boasts together, 30 

Love loveth best of all the year 
October's bright blue weather. 



THE CORN-SONG 
John Greenleaf Whittier 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! 

High heap the golden corn ! 
No richer gift has Autumn poured 

From out her lavish horn ! 

Let other lands, exulting, glean 5 

The apple from the pine, 
The orange from its glossy green. 

The cluster from the vine ; 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow, 10 



THIRD YEAR 

To cheer us when the storm shall drift 
Our harvest-fields with snow. 

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers 

Our ploughs their furrows made, 
While on the hills the sun and showers 15 

Of changeful April played. 

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain 

Beneath the sun of May, 
And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 20 

All through the long, bright days of June 

Its leaves grew green and fair. 
And waved in hot midsummer's noon 

Its soft and yellow hair. 

And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves, 25 

Its harvest-time has come. 
We pluck away the frosted leaves, 

And bear the treasure home. 

There, when the snows about us drift, 

And winter winds are cold, 30 

Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 
And knead its meal of gold. 

Let vapid idlers loll in silk 

Around their costly board; 
Give us the bowl of samp and milk, 35 

By homespun beauty poured ! 

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth 
Sends up its smoky curls. 



THIRD YEAR 6 

Who will not thank the kindly earth 

And bless our farmer girls ! 40 

Then shame on all the proud and vain, 

Whose folly laughs to scorn 
The blessing of our hardy grain, 

Our wealth of golden corn ! 

Let earth withhold her goodly root, 45 

Let mildew blight the rye, 
Give to the worm the orchard's fruit. 

The wheat-field to the fly ; 

But let the good old corn adorn 

The hills our fathers trod ; 50 

Still let us, for His golden corn, 

Send up our thanks to God ! 



THE FIRST SNOW-FALL 

James RussELii Lowell 

The snow had begun in the gloaming, 

And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 

With a silence deep and white. 

Every pine and fir and hemlock 5 

Wore ermine too dear for an earl. 

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree 
Was ridged inch-deep with pearl. 

From sheds new roofed with Carrara 

Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, 10 

The stiff rails softened to swan's-down, 
And still fluttered down the snow. 



THIRD YEAR 

I stood and watched by the window 

The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, 15 

Like brown leaves whirling by. 

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn 

Where a little headstone stood ; 
How the flakes were folding it gently, 

As did robins the babes in the wood. 20 

Up spoke our own little Mabel, 

Saying, " Father, who makes it snow ? " 

And I told of the good All-father 
Who cares for us here below. 

Again I looked at the snow-fall, 25 

And thought of the leaden sky 
That arched o'er our first great sorrow, 

When that mound was heaped so high. 

I remembered the gradual patience 

That fell from that cloud like snow, 30 

Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
The scar that renewed our woe. 

And again to the child I whispered, 

" The snow that husheth all. 
Darling, the merciful Father 35 

Alone can make it fall ! " 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her ; 

And she, kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister. 

Folded close under deepening snow. 40 



THIRD YEAR 7 

WINTER-TIME 

Robert Louis Stevenson 

Late lies the wintry sun abed 
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head ; 
Blinks but an hour or two ; and then, 
A blood-red orange, sets again. 

Before the stars have left the skies, 5 

At morning in the dark I rise ; 
And shivering in my nakedness. 
By the cold candle, bathe and dress. 

Close by the jolly fire I sit 

To warm my frozen bones a bit ; 10 

Or with a reindeer-sled, explore 

The colder countries round the door. 

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap 

Me in my comforter and cap. 

The cold wind burns my face, and blows 15 

Its frosty pepper up my nose. 

Black are my steps on silver sod ; 
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad ; 
And tree and house, and hill and lake, 
Are frosted like a wedding-cake. 20 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Between the dark and the daylight. 
When the night is beginning to lower. 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations. 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 



8 THIRD YEAR 

I hear in the chamber above me 6 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight, 

Descending the broad hall stair, 10 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence : 

Yet I know by their merry eyes, 
They are plotting and planning together 15 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 

A sudden raid from the hall ! 
By three doors left unguarded 

They enter my castle wall ! 20 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me ; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 25 

Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 

27-28. Near Bingen on the Rhine is a little sqnare Mouse- 
Tower, so called from an old word meaning toll, since it was 
used as a toll-house ; but there is an old tradition that a certain 
Bishop Hatto, who had been cruel to the people, was attacked 
in the tower by a great army of rats and mice. See Southey's 
famous poem. Bishop Hatto. 



THIRD YEAR 9 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 

Because you have scaled the wall, 30 

Such an old moustache as I am 

Is not a match for you all ? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart. 
But put you down into the dungeon 35 

In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day. 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away ! 40 

MARCH 

William Cullen Bryant 

The stormy March is come at last. 

With wind and cloud and changing skies ; 

I hear the rushing of the blast. 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah, passing few are they who speak, 5 

Wild stormy month ! in praise of thee ; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou to northern lands again 

The glad and glorious sun dost bring, 10 

And thou hast joined the gentle traiq 

And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 



10 THIRD YEAR 

When the changed winds are soft and warm, 15 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills 

In joy that they again are free, 
And, brightly leaping down the hills, 

Renew their journey to the sea. 20 

The year's departing beauty hides 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat ; 

But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring' st the hope of those calm skies, 25 
And that soft time of sunny showers. 

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 



THE UGLY DUCKLING 

Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen 

It was glorious out in the country. In the midst of 
the sunshine there lay an old farm, surrounded by 
deep canals, and from the wall down to the water 
grew great burdocks, so high that little children could 
stand upright under the loftiest of them. Here sat 
a duck upon her nest waiting for her young ones to 
hatch. At last one eggshell after another burst open, 
and in all the eggs there were little creatures that 
stuck out their heads. 

" Well, how goes it ? " asked an old duck who had 
come to pay her a visit. 

"It lasts a long time with that one egg," said the 
duck who sat there. ''It will not burst. Now, only 



THIRD YEAR 11 

look at the others ; are they not the prettiest ducks 
one could possibly see ? " 

" Let me see the egg that will not burst," said the 
old visitor. '' Believe me, it is a turkey's egg, I was 
once cheated in that way. Yes, that is a turkey's egg ! 
Let it lie there, and you teach the other children to 
swim." 

" I think I will sit on it a little longer," said the 
duck. "I've sat so long now that I can sit a few 
days more." 

" Just as you please," said the old duck ; and she 
went away. 

At last the great egg burst. "Peep! peep!" said 
the little one, and crept forth. It was very large and 
very ugly. The duck looked at it. "It's a very large 
duckling," said she ; " none of the others look like 
that ; can it really be a turkey chick ? Now we shall 
soon find out. It must go into the water, even if I 
have to thrust it in myself." 

The next day the weather was splendidly bright, 
and the mother duck went down to the water with all 
her little ones. Splash ! she jumped into the water. 
" Quack ! quack ! " she said, and then one duckling 
after another plunged in. The ugly gray duckling 
swam with them. 

" No, it 's not a turkey," said she ; " look how well 
it can use its legs, and how upright it holds itself. It 
is my own child I On the whole it 's quite pretty, if one 
looks at it rightly." 

They came into the poultry -yard ; but the other 
ducks round about looked at them, and said quite 
boldly : — 

" Look there ! now we 're to have these hanging on, 
as if there were not enough of us already ! And fie — 



12 THIRD YEAR 

fie — ! how that duckling yonder looks ; we won't stand 
that ! " And one duck flew up immediately, and bit it 
in the neck. 

" Let it alone," said the mother ; " it does no harm 
to any one." 

"Those are pretty children that the mother has 
there," said the old duck with the rag round her leg. 
" They 're all pretty but that one ; that was a failure ; 
I wish he could be hatched over again." 

" That cannot be done," said the mother. " He is not 
handsome, but he has a really good disposition, and 
swims even better than the others. I think he will 
grow up pretty, and become smaller in time." 

And now they were at home. But the poor ugly 
duckling was bitten and pushed and jeered, as much 
by the ducks as by the chickens. 

So it went on the first day ; and afterward it became 
worse and worse. The poor duckling was hunted about 
by every one ; even his brothers and sisters were un- 
kind. The ducks bit him, the chickens beat him, and 
the girl who fed the poultry kicked at him with her 
foot. 

Then he ran and flew over the fence, and the little 
birds in the bushes flew up in fear. " That is because 
I am so ugly ! " thought the duckling, shutting his eyes, 
but going on. 

At last he came to a place where the wild geese 
lived. There he lay two whole days ; then came two 
wild geese. " Listen, comrade," said one of them. 
" You 're so ugly that I like you. Will you go with us, 
and fly away to the south? " 

Bang ! bang ! went a gun, and the two wild geese fell 
down dead in the swamp, and the water became blood- 
red. Bang ! it sounded again, and whole flocks of wild 



THIRD YEAR 13 

geese rose up from the reeds. A great hunt was going 
on. The blue smoke rose up like clouds among the 
dark trees, and the hunting dogs came — splash, 
splash I into the swamp, and the poor duckling was 
frightened. He turned his head to put it under his 
wing ; but at that moment a frightful great dog stood 
close to the duckling. His tongue hung far out of his 
mouth and his eyes gleamed horrible and ugly. He 
looked at the poor duckling an instant, and splash, 
splash ! — on he went without hurting him. 

" Well, let me be thankful," said the duckling ; " I 
am so ugly that even the dog will not bite me." And 
now he lay still ; and the noise of the shooting did 
not cease till late in the day. The poor little thing 
waited many hours before he dared move. Then he 
ran as fast as he could over fields and meadows. 

In the evening he reached a little hut. The door 
was broken, so he crept into the room. Here lived an 
old woman with her cat and her hen. 

In the morning the strange duckling was at once 
noticed, and the cat began to purr and the hen to 
cluck. 

" What's this?" said the woman; but she could not 
see well, and therefore she thought the duckling was 
a fat duck and had lost its way. "This is a rare 
prize," she said ; " now I shall have duck's eggs." So 
the duckling was kept for three weeks, but no eggs 
came. 

"Can you lay eggs ? " asked the hen. 

" No." 

" Well, then, hold your tongue." 

And the cat said, '' Can you put up your back, and 
purr, and give out sparks? " 

" No." 



14 THIRD YEAR 

" Well, then, you should keep still." 

So the duckling sat alone in the corner, and was 
very unhappy. Then the fresh air and the sunshine 
streamed in ; and he was seized with such a strange 
longing to swim on the water that he went away. He 
swam on the water, and dived, but he was slighted by 
every creature because of his ugliness. 

Now came the autumn, the leaves turned yellow and 
brown, the air was very cold, and the clouds were 
heavy with snow. One evening — the sun was just set- 
ting in his beauty — there came a whole flock of great 
handsome birds out of the bushes ; they were daz- 
zingly white, with long flexible necks ; they were swans. 
They uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth their 
glorious great wings, and flew away from that cold 
region to warmer lands, to fair open lakes. They 
mounted so high, so high! and the ugly little duck- 
ling felt quite strangely as it watched them. He 
turned round and round in the water like a wheel, 
stretched out his neck toward them, and uttered such 
a strange loud cry as frightened himself. 

Oh ! he could not forget those beautiful, happy 
birds. He did not know the name of those birds, and 
knew not whither they were flying ; but he loved 
them more than he had ever loved any one. He did 
not envy them. He would have been glad if only the 
ducks would have endured his company — the poor 
ugly creature ! 

And the winter grew cold, very cold ! It would be 
too sad to tell all the misery and care which the duck- 
ling had to endure in the hard winter. He lay out on 
the moor among the reeds when the sun began to shine 
again, and the larks to sing ; it was a beautiful spring. 

Then all at once the duckling could flap his wings ; 



THIRD YEAR 15 

they beat the air more strongly than before, and bore 
him strongly away ; and before he well knew how all 
this had happened, he found himself in a great gar- 
den, where the elder trees smelled sweet, and bent 
their long green branches down to the canal that 
wound through the region. Oh ! here it was so beau- 
tiful, such a gladness of spring ! and from the thicket 
came three glorious white swans ; they rustled their 
wings, and swam lightly on the water. The duckling 
knew the splendid creatures, and felt oppressed by a 
peculiar sadness. 

" I will fly away to them, to the royal birds ! and 
they will kill me, because I, that am so ugly, dare to 
approach them. But it is of no consequence ! Better to 
be killed by them than to be pursued by ducks, and 
beaten by fowls, and pushed about by the girl who 
takes care of the poultry -yard, and to suffer hunger in 
winter! '' And it flew out into the water, and swam 
toward the beautiful swans : these looked at him, and 
came sailing down upon him with outspread wings. 
"Kill me!" said the poor creature, and bent his head 
down upon the water, expecting nothing but death. 
But what was this that he saw in the clear water ? He 
beheld his own image — and lo ! it was no longer a 
clumsy dark gray bird, ugly and hateful to look at, 
but — a swan ! 

It matters nothing if one was born in a duck-yard, 
if one has only lain in a swan's egg. 

He felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune 
he had suffered, now he realized his happiness in all 
the splendor that surrounded him. And the great 
swans swam round him, and stroked him wi4:h their 
beaks. Into the garden came little children, who threw 
bread and corn into the water, and the youngest one 



16 THIRD YEAR 

cried, " There is a new one ! " And they all said, 
" The new one is the most beautiful of all ! so young 
and handsome ! " and the old swans bowed their heads 
before him. 

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under 
his wing, for he did not know what to do ; he was so 
happy, and yet not at all proud. He thought how he 
had been persecuted and despised ; and now he heard 
them saying that he was the most beautiful of all the 
birds. Then his wings rustled, he lifted his slender 
neck, and cried rejoicingly from the depths of his 
heart : " I never dreamed of so much happiness when 
I was still the Ugly Duckling ! " 

THE BROOK 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

I COME from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 5 

Or slip between the ridges, 
By twenty thorps, a little town. 

And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 

To join the brimming river, 10 

For men may come, and men may go. 

But I go on for ever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 
In little sharps and trebles. 



THIRD YEAR 17 

I bubble into eddying bays ; 15 

I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret 

By many a field and fallow, 
And many a fairy foreland set 

With willow-weed and mallow. 20 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river, 
For men may come, and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 25 

With here a blossom sailing. 
And here and there a lusty trout, 

And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me as I travel 30 

With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along and flow 

To join the brimming river, 
For men may come, and men may go, 35 

But I go on for ever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 

I slide by hazel covers; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 40 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows ; 



18 THIRD YEAR 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars 45 

In brambly wildernesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars, 

I loiter round my cresses ; 

And out again I curve and flow 

To join the brimming river, 50 

For men may come, and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 



FOURTH YEAR 

THE BAREFOOT BOY 

John Greenleaf Whittieb 

Blessings on thee, little man, 

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 

With thy turned-up pantaloons, 

And thy merry whistled tunes ; 

With thy red lip, redder still 5 

Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 

With the sunshine on thy face. 

Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; 

From my heart I give thee joy, — 

I was once a barefoot boy ! 10 

Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 

Only is republican. 

Let the million-doUared ride ! 

Barefoot, trudging at his side, 

Thou hast more than he can buy 15 

In the reach of ear and eye, — 

Outward sunshine, inward joy : 

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

Oh for boyhood's painless play. 

Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 20 

Health that mock3 the doctor's rules, 

Knowledge never learned of schools, 

Of the wild bee's morning chase. 

Of the wild-flower's time and place, 



20 FOURTH YEAR 

Flight of fowl and habitude 26 

Of the tenants of the wood ; 

How the tortoise bears his shell, 

How the woodehuck digs his cell, 

And the ground-mole sinks his well; 

How the robin feeds her young, 30 

How the oriole's nest is hung ; 

Where the whitest lilies blow, 

Where the freshest berries grow. 

Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 

Where the wood -grape's clusters shine; 36 

Of the black wasp's cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 

Of gray hornet artisans ! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 40 

Nature answers all he asks ; 

Hand in hand with her he walks, 

Face to face with her he talks, 

Part and parcel of her joy, — 

Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 46 

Oh for boyhood's time of June 

Crowding years in one brief moon, 

When all things I heard or saw. 

Me, their master, waited for. 

I was rich in flowers and trees, 60 

Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 

For my sport the squirrel played. 

Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 

For my taste the blackberry cone 

Purpled over hedge and stone ; 56 

Laughed the brook for my delight 

Through the day and through the night. 




(J»L%e^i^^-J 



FOURTH YEAR 21 

Whispering at the garden wall, 

Talked with me from fall to fall ; 

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 60 

Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 

Mine, on bending orchard trees, 

Apples of Hesperides ! 

Still as my horizon grew, 

Larger grew my riches too ; 65 

All the world I saw or knew 

Seemed a complex Chinese toy. 

Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

Oh for festal dainties spread, 

Like my bowl of milk and bread ; 70 

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. 

On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 

O'er me, like a regal tent, 

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. 

Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 75 

Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 

While for music came the play 

Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 

And, to light the noisy choir. 

Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 80 

I was monarch : pomp and joy 

Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my little man. 

Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 

Though the flinty slopes be hard, 85 

Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 

Every morn shall lead thee through 

Fresh baptisms of the dew; 

Every evening from thy feet 



:22 FOURTH YEAR 

Shall the cool wind kiss the heat ; 90 

All too soon these feet must hide 

In the prison cells of pride, 

Lose the freedom of the sod, 

Like a colt's for work be shod, 

Made to tread the mills of toil, 95 

Up and down in ceaseless moil : 

Happy if their track be found 

Never on forbidden ground ; 

Happy if they sink not in 

Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 100 

Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 

Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AS A BOY 
Adapted from Nathaniel Hawthorne 

In the year 1716, or about that time, a boy used to 
be seen on the streets of Boston who was known 
among his companions as Ben Franklin. He was a 
bright boy at his books, and even a brighter one when 
at play with his comrades. There was something about 
the lad that always seemed to give him the lead 
among his companions. 

I might tell you many amusing stories about him. 
No doubt you have read the famous story of Ben and 
his whistle, and how he gave a whole pocketful of 
pennies for one. Afterwards he found that he had 
paid too much for his whistle, and was very sorry for 
his bargain. 

But Ben had grown to be a large boy since those 
days, and had become much wiser. His mistakes al- 
ways taught him some valuable lesson. 

Ben was now at work in his father's shop, and busy 



FOURTH YEAR 23 

as his life was, he still found time for out-of-door 
sports. Ben and his companions were very fond of 
fishing, and they spent many hours on the margin of 
a pond near the outskirts of the town. 

The place where they fished was a marshy spot, 
where sea-gulls flitted overhead and salt meadow-grass 
grew under foot. On the edge of the water there was 
a bed of wet clay, in which the boys were forced to 
stand while they caught their fish. Here they dabbled 
in mud like a flock of ducks. 

" This is very uncomfortable," said Ben Franklin 
one day to his comrades. 

" So it is," said the other boys. " What a pity we 
have no better place to stand ! " 

If it had not been for Ben, nothing more would 
have been done or said about the matter. But it was 
not in his nature to endure a hardship without trying 
to find a remedy for it. 

"Boys," said Ben, as he and his comrades were 
walking home, " I have thought of a plan which will 
be for our benefit, and for the public benefit." 

His companions were always ready to listen to any- 
thing Ben might propose. They remembered how he 
had sailed across the mill pond by holding on to his 
kite string as he lay flat on his back in the water. A 
boy who could do that might do almost anything. 

"What is your plan, Ben ? What is it ? " cried they 
all. 

It so happened that they had now come to the spot 
of ground where a new house was to be built. Scat- 
tered about were a great many large stones which 
were to be used in the building. Ben mounted the 
highest of these stones so that he might be heard 
by all. 



24 FOURTH YEAR 

" I propose, boys," said Master Benjamin, " that we 
build a wharf to aid us in fishing. You see these 
stones. The workmen mean to use them for the foun- 
dation of a house, but that will be for only one man's 
advantage. My plan is to carry these stones to the 
edge of the water, and build a wharf with them. 

"The stones will then be of great help to us and 
also to the boats passing up and down the stream. 
You see the wharf will be of use to many people. The 
house will benefit only one man. What do you say, 
boys? Shall we build the wharf ? " 

" Hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouted all the boys. " Let 's 
set about it at once." 

Not one of them asked, " Is it right to build a 
wharf with stones that belong to another person?" 
They all agreed to be on the spot that evening and 
commence their work by moonlight. At the time set, 
the whole gang of young laborers met and began to 
remove the heap of stones. 

The stones proved heavy and the work harder than 
they expected. Ben, of course, was the leader, and the 
boys cheerfully followed his directions. He showed 
them how to carry the stones, and when they grew 
tired he had some joke ready which set them all into 
a roar of laughter. 

After an hour or two of hard work the stones were 
carried to the waterside, and it was Ben Franklin who 
planned the building of the wharf. Finally, just as the 
moon sank below the horizon, the great work was fin- 
ished. 

" Now, boys," cried Ben, " let 's give three cheers 
and go home to bed. To-morrow we may catch fish at 
our ease." 

"Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah! " shouted his comrades. 



FOURTH YEAR 25 

Then they all went home in such delight that they 
could hardly get a wink of sleep. 

In the morning, when the early sunbeams were 
gleaming on the steeples and roofs of the town, the 
masons came to begin work on the new house. But 
where were their stones ? What had become of them ? 

" The stones must have flown away through the air 
while we were asleep," said one of the men. 

" More likely they were stolen," said another work- 
man. 

" But who would think of stealing a heap of stones ? " 
cried a third. " Could a man carry them away in his 
pocket?" 

The master mason said nothing at first. But look- 
ing carefully on the ground, he noticed tracks of little 
feet, some with shoes and some barefoot. He soon saw 
the tracks formed a beaten path toward the water's 
edge. 

" Ah, I see what the mischief is," said he, nodding 
his head. "Those little rascals, the boys, have stolen 
our stones to build a wharf with." 

The masons went to look at the new wharf. And, to 
say the truth, it was well worth looking at, so neatly 
had it been planned and finished. 

" The chaps that built this wharf understood their 
business," said one of the masons. " I should not be 
ashamed of such a piece of work myself ! " 

But the master mason did not enjoy the joke. " The 
boys must be arrested," he said. "Go, call an of- 
ficer." 

If the owner of the stolen property had not been 
more merciful than the master mason, it might have 
gone hard with our friend Benjamin and his fellow- 
laborers. The gentleman had great respect for Ben's 



26 FOURTH YEAR 

father, and he was fond of boys. And so he let them 
off quite easily. 

But the poor boys had to go through another trial, 
for their fathers soon learned what they had done. 
Many a rod, I grieve to say, was well worn on that 
unlucky night. As for Ben, he was less afraid of a 
whipping than of his father's disapproval. 

"Come here, Ben," said his father. " How could 
you take property which did not belong to you ? " 

" Why, father," replied Ben, hanging his head, " if 
it had been merely for my own benefit I never should 
have dreamed of it. I thought the wharf would be of 
use to others, while a house would be of use only to the 
owner of the stones." 

" My son," said Mr. Franklin, " you did very wrong 
to build a wharf with stones that did not belong to you. 
There is no more terrible mistake than to think that 
good will come from a wrong act. Remember, my son, 
that evil can bring about only evil ; good can come only 
through right doing." 

" I will never forget it again," said the lad, bowing 
his head. And to the close of his life Ben Franklin 
never forgot this conversation with his father. 



DUTCH LULLABY^ 

^ Eugene Field 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 
Sailed off in a wooden shoe, — 

Sailed on a river of misty light 
Into a sea of dew. 

1 From A Little Book of Western Verse. Copyright, 1889, by 
Eugene Field. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



FOURTH YEAR 27 

" Where are you going, and what do you wish ? " 5 

The old moon asked the three. 
" We have come to fish for the herring-fish 
That live in this beautiful sea ; 
Nets of silver and gold have we," 

Said Wynken, 10 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sung a song, 

As they rocked in the wooden shoe ; 
And the wind that sped them all night long 15 

Ruffled the waves of dew ; 
The little stars were the herring-fish 
That lived in the beautiful sea. 
" Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 

But never afeard are we ! " 20 

So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw 25 

For the fish in the twinkling foam, 
Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe. 

Bringing the fishermen home ; 
'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed 

As if it could not be ; 30 

And some folk thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed 

Of sailing that beautiful sea ; 
But I shall name you the fishermen three : 
Wynken, 

Blynken, 35 

And Nod. 



28 FOURTH YEAR 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head, 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed ; 40 

So shut your eyes while Mother sings 
Of wonderful sights that be, 
And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock on the misty sea 

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, — 45 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH ^ 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 5 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'er he can, 10 

And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

^ The sug^gestion of this poem came from the smithy which the poet 
passed daily, and which stood beneath a horse-chestnut tree not far 
from his house in Cambridge. The tree, against the protest of Mr. 
Longfellow and others, was removed in 1876, on the ground that it 
imperilled drivers of heavy loads who passed under it. 



FOURTH YEAR 29 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 

You can hear his bellows blow ; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 15 

With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 20 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 25 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice. 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 30 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 35 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 
Onward through life he goes ; 

23. After this poem had been printed for some time, Mr. 
Longfellow was disposed . to change the word ** catch " to 
" watch," but the original form had grown so familiar that he 
decided to leave it. 



BO FOURTH YEAR 

Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 40 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 45 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought. 



THE SPARROWS 

Cklia Thaxter 

In the far-off land of Norway, 

Where the winter lingers late, 
And long for the singing-birds and flowers 

The little children wait ; 

When at last the summer ripens 5 

And the harvest is gathered in. 
And food for the bleak, drear days to come 

The toiling people win ; 

Through all the land the children 

In the golden fields remain 10 

Till their busy little hands have gleaned 

A generous sheaf of grain ; 

All the stalks by the reapers forgotten 

They glean to the very least. 
To save till the cold December, 16 

For the sparrows' Christmas feast? 



FOURTH YEAR 31 

And then through the frost-locked country 
There happens a wonderful thing : 

The sparrows flock north, south, east, west, 

For the children's offering. 20 

Of a sudden, the day before Christmas, 

The twittering crowds arrive, 
And the bitter, wintry air at once 

With their chirping is all alive. 

They perch upon roof and gable, 25 

On porch and fence and tree, 
They flutter about the windows 

And peer in curiously. 

And meet the eyes of the children, 

Who eagerly look out 30 

With cheeks that bloom like roses red, 

And greet them with welcoming shout. 

On the joyous Christmas morning, 

In front of every door 
A tall pole, crowned with clustering grain, 35 

Is set the birds before. 

And which are the happiest, truly 

It would be hard to tell ; 
The sparrows who share in the Christmas cheer. 

Or the children who love them well ! 40 

How sweet that they should remember, 

With faith so full and sure. 
That the children's bounty awaited them 

The whole wide country o'er ! 



32 FOURTH YEAR 

When this pretty story was told me 45 

By one who had helped to rear 

The rustling grain for the merry birds 
In Norway, many a year, 

I thought that our little children 

Would like to know it too, 60 

It seems to me so beautiful, 

So blessed a thing to do. 

To make God's innocent creatures see 

In every child a friend, 
And on our faithful kindness 55 

So fearlessly depend. 



SELECTIONS FROM SNOW-BOUND 

John Greenleaf Whittier 
THE STORM 

Unwarmed by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 5 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the window-frame, 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 10 

So all night long the storm roared on : 
The morning broke without a sun ; 
In tiny spherule traced with lines 
Of Nature's geometric signs, 



FOURTH YEAR 33 

In starry flake and pellicle 15 

All day the hoary meteor fell ; 

And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 20 

The blue walls of the firmament. 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow ! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 25 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 

Or garden-wall or belt of wood ; 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 30 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat ; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof. 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 85 

THE KITCHEN SCENE 

As night drew on, and, from the crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west. 
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 

35. The Leaning Tower of Pisa, in Italy, which inclines from 
the perpendicular a little more than six feet in eighty, is a cam- 
panile, or bell-tower, built of white marble, very beautiful, but 
so famous for its singular deflection from perpendicularity as 
to be known almost wholly as a curiosity. Opinions differ as to 
the leaning being the result of accident or design, but the better 
judgment makes it an effect of the character of the soil on which 
the town is built. The Cathedral to which it belongs has suffered 
80 much from a similar cause that there is not a vertical line in it. 



34 FOURTH YEAR 

From sight beneath the smothering bank, 

We piled with care our nightly stack 5 

Of wood against the chimney-back, — 

The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 

And on its top the stout back-stick; 

The knotty f orestick laid apart, 

And filled between with curious art 10 

The ragged brush ; then, hovering near, 

We watched the first red blaze appear, 

Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 

On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, 

Until the old, rude-furnished room |S 

Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom ; 

While radiant with a mimic flame 

Outside the sparkling drift became, 

And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree, 

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing fi^ee. 20 

The crane and pendent trammels showed, 

The Turk's heads on the andirons glowed ; 

While childish fancy, prompt to tell 

The meaning of the miracle, 

Whispered the old rhyme : " Under the tree^ 25 

When five outdoors burns merrily, 

There the witches are making tea^ 

The moon above the eastern wood 
Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood 
Transfigured in the silver flood, 30 

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen. 
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 
Took shadow, or the sombre green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness at their back. 35 

For such a world and such a night 



FOURTH YEAR 35 

Most fitting that unwarming light, 
Which only seemed where'er it fell 
To make the coldness visible. 

Shut in from all the world without, 40 

We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 

Content to let the north-wind roar 

In baffled rage at pane and door, 

While the red logs before us beat 

The frost-line back with tropic heat ; 45 

And ever, when a louder blast 

Shook beam and rafter as it passed. 

The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed ; 

The house-dog on his paws outspread 50 

Laid to the fire his drowsy head, 

The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 

A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; 

And, for the winter fireside meet. 

Between the andirons' straddling feet, 55 

The mug of cider simmered slow. 

The apples sputtered in a row. 

And, close at hand, the basket stood. 

With nuts from brown October's wood. 



OLD IRONSIDES 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high. 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky : 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar ; — 



36 FOURTH YEAR 

The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 10 

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below. 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee ; — 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 15 

The eagle of the sea ! 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave ; 20 

Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms. 

The lightning and the gale ! 

OUR HEROES 
Phcebe Gary 

Here 's a hand to the boy who has courage 

To do what he knows to be right ; 
When he falls in the way of temptation 

He has a hard battle to fight. 
Who strives against self and his comrades 5 

Will find a most powerful foe : 
All honor to him if he conquers ; 

A cheer for the boy who says " No " ! 

There 's many a battle fought daily 

The world knows nothing about ; 10 



FOURTH YEAR 37 

There 's many a brave little soldier 
Whose strength puts a legion to rout. 

And he who fights sin single-handed 
Is more of a hero, I say, 

Than he who leads soldiers to battle, 15 

And conquers by arms in the fray. 

Be steadfast, my boy, when you 're tempted, 

And do what you know to be right ; 
Stand firm by the colors of manhood, 

And you will o'ercome in the fight. 20 

" The right ! " be your battle-cry ever 

In waging the warfare of life ; 
And God, who knows who are the heroes, 

Will give you the strength for the strife. 

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER 

Thomas Hood 

I REMEMBER, I remember 

The house where I was born; 
The little window where the sun 

Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 5 

Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now, I often wish the night 

Had borne my breath away ! 

I remember, I remember 

The roses, red and white, 10 

The violets, and the lily-cups, — 

Those flowers made of light ! 
The lilacs where the robin built. 

And where my brother set 



38 FOURTH YEAR 

The laburnum on his birthday — 15 

The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing, 
And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing; 20 

My spirit flew in feathers then, 

That is so heavy now. 
And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow ! 

I remember, I remember 25 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 
I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky. 
It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 't is little joy 30 

To know I 'm farther off from heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 



THE VOICE OF SPRING 

Felicia D. Hemans 

I COME, I come ! ye have called me long — 

I come o'er the mountains with light and song ! 

Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth 

By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, 

By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 5 

By the green leaves opening as I pass. 

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers 
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers. 
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes 



FOURTH YEAR 39 

Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains ; — 10 

But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, 
To speak of the ruin or the tomb ! 

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, 

And the larch has hung all his tassels forth, 

The fisher is out on the sunny sea, 15 

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, 

And the pine has a fringe of softer green. 

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been. 

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, 
And called out each voice of the deep-blue sky ; 20 
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time. 
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, 
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes, 
When the dark fir branch into verdure breaks. 

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain ; 
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 26 

They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, 
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves. 
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves ! 30 

Come forth, O ye children of gladness ! come ! 

Where the violets lie may be now your home. 

Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye. 

And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly f 

With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, 35 

Come forth to the sunshine — I may not stay. 

Away from the dwellings of careworn men, 
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen ! 



40 FOURTH YEAR 

Away from the chamber and sullen hearth, 
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth ! 40 
Their light stems thrill to the wildwood strains, 
And youth is abroad in my green domains. 

But ye ! — ye are changed since ye met me last ! 
There is something bright from your features passed ! 
There is that come over your brow and eye 45 

Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die I 
— Ye smile! but your smile hath a dimness yet; 
O, what have you looked on since last we met ? 

Ye are changed, ye are changed! — and I see not 

here 
All whom I saw in the vanished year ! 50 

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright, 
Which tossed in the breeze with a play of light ; 
There were eyes in whose glistening laughter lay 
No faint remembrance of dull decay ! 

There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head, 55 

As if for a banquet all earth were spread ; 

There were voices that rang through the sapphire sky, 

And had not a sound of mortality ! 

Are they gone? is their mirth from the mountains 

passed ? 
Ye have looked on death since ye met me last ! 60 

I know where the shadow comes o'er you now, — 

Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow! 

Ye have given the lovely to Earth's embrace, — 

She hath taken the fairest of Beauty's race. 

With their laughing eyes and their festal crown : 65 

They are gone from amongst you in silence down ! 



FOURTH YEAR 41 

They are gone from amongst you, the young and 

fair, 
Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair ! 
But I know of a land where there falls no blight, — 
I shall find them there, with their eyes of light ! — 70 
Where Death midst the blooms of the morn may 

dwell, 
I tarry no longer, — farewell, farewell ! 

The summer is coming, on soft wings borne, — 
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn ! 
For me, I depart to a brighter shore, — 75 

Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more ; 
I go where the loved who have left you dwell. 
And the flowers are not Death's. Fare ye well, fare- 
well! 



THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 

A STORY OF HOLLAND 
Phcebe Gary 

The good dame looked from her cottage 

At the close of the pleasant day, 
And cheerily called to her little son 

Outside the door at play : 
" Come, Peter, come ! I want you to go, 5 

While there is light to see. 
To the hut of the blind old man who lives 

Across the dike, for me ; 
And take these cakes I made for him — 

They are hot and smoking yet ; 10 

You have time enough to go and come 

Before the sun is set." 



42 FOURTH YEAR 

Then the good-wife turned to her labor 

Humming a simple song, 
And thought of her husband, working hard 15 

At the sluices all day long ; 
And set the turf a-blazing, 

And brought the coarse black bread ; 
That he might find a fire at night, 

And find the table spread. 20 

And Peter left the brother, 

With whom all day he had played, 
And the sister who had watched their sports 

In the willow's tender shade ; 
And told them they 'd see him back before 25 

They saw a star in sight, 
Though he would n't be afraid to go 

In the very darkest night ! 
For he was a brave, bright fellow. 

With eye and conscience clear ; 30 

He could do whatever a boy might do, 

And he had not learned to fear. 
Why, he would n't have robbed a bird's nest, 

Nor brought a stork to harm. 
Though never a law in Holland 35 

Had stood to stay his arm ! 

And now, with his face all glowing, 

And eyes as bright as the day 
With the thoughts of his pleasant errand^ 

He trudged along the way ; 40 

And soon his joyous prattle 

Made glad a lonesome place — 
Alas ! if only the blind old man 

Could have seen that happy face ! 



FOURTH YEAR 43 

Yet he somehow caught the brightness 45 

Which his voice and presence lent ; 

And he felt the sunshine come and go 
As Peter came and went. 

And now, as the day was sinking, 

And the winds began to rise, 50 

The mother looked from her door again, 

Shading her anxious eyes ; 
And saw the shadows deepen 

And birds to their homes come back, 
But never a sign of Peter 55 

Along the level track. 
But she said : " He will come at morning, 

So I need not fret nor grieve -^ 
Though it is n't like my boy at all 

To stay without my leave." 60 

But where was the child delaying ? 

On the homeward way was he, 
And across the dike while the sun was up 

An hour above the sea. 
He was stopping now to gather flowers, 65 

Now listening to the sound, 
As the angry waters dashed themselves 

Against their narrow bound. 
" Ah ! well for us," said Peter, 

'' That the gates are good and strong, 70 

And my father tends them carefully. 

Or they would not hold you long ! 
You 're a wicked sea," said Peter ; 

" I know why you fret and chafe ; 
You would like to spoil our lands and homes ; 75 

But our sluices keep you safe ! " 



44 FOURTH YEAR 

But hark ! Through the noise of waters 

Comes a low, clear, trickling sound ; 
And the child's face pales with terror, 

And his blossoms drop to the ground. 80 

He is up the bank in a moment, 

And, stealing through the sand, 
He sees a stream not yet so large 

As his slender, childish hand. 
^Tis a leak in the dike ! He is but a boy, 85 

Unused to fearful scenes ; 
But, as young as he is, he has learned to know 

The dreadful things that means. 
A leak in the dike ! The stoutest heart 

Grows faint that cry to hear, 90 

And the bravest man in all the land 

Turns white with mortal fear. 
For he knows the smallest leak may grow 

To a flood in a single night ; 
And he knows the strength of the cruel sea 95 

When loosed In its angry might. 

And the boy ! He has seen the danger. 

And, shouting a wild alarm. 
He forces back the weight of the sea 

With the strength of his single arm ! 100 

He listens for the joyful sound 

Of a footstep passing nigh ; 
And lays his ear to the ground, to catch 

The answer to his cry. 
And he hears the rough winds blowing, 105 

And the waters rise and fall. 
But never an answer comes to him. 

Save the echo of his call. 



FOURTH YEAR 45 

He sees no hope, no succor, 

His feeble voice is lost ; 110 

Yet what shall he do but watch and wait, 

Though he perish at his post ! 

So faintly calling and crying 

Till the sun is under the sea ; 
Crying and moaning till the stars 115 

Come out for company ; 
He thinks of his brother and sister. 

Asleep in their safe warm bed ; 
He thinks of his father and mother. 

Of himself as. dying — and dead ; 120 

And of how, when the night is over, 

They must come and find him at last: 
But he never thinks he can leave the place 

Where duty holds him fast. 

The good danie in the cottage 125 

Is up and astir with the light, 
For the thought of her little Peter 

Has been with her all night. 
And now she watches the pathway. 

As yester eve she had done ; 130 

But what does she see so strange and black 

Against the rising sun ? 
Her neighbors are bearing between them 

Something straight to her door ; 
Her child is coming home, but not 135 

As he ever came before ! 

" He is dead ! " she cries ; " my darling ! '' 
And the startled father hears, 
And comes and looks the way she looks, 

And fears the thing she fears : 140 



46 FOURTH YEAR 

Till a glad shout from the bearers 

Thrills the stricken man and wife — 
" Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, 

And God has saved his life ! " 
So, there in the morning sunshine 145 

They knelt about the boy ; 
And every head was bared and bent 

In tearful, reverent joy. 

'T is many a year since then ; but still, 

When the sea roars like a flood, 150 

Their boys are taught what a boy can do 

Who is brave and true and good. 
For every man in that country 

Takes his son by the hand, 
And tells him of little Peter 155 

Whose courage saved the land. 

They have many a valiant hero. 

Remembered through the years : 
But never one whose name so oft 

Is named with loving tears. 160 

And his deed shall be sung by the cradle, 

And told to the child on the knee, 
So long as the dikes of Holland 

Divide the land from the sea ! 



SEVEN TIMES ONE 
Jean Ingelow 

There 's no dew left on the daisies and clover, 

There 's no rain left in heaven ; 
I Ve said my " seven times " over and over ; 

Seven times one are seven. 



FOURTH YEAR 47 

I am old, so old I can write a letter ; 5 

My birthday lessons are done; 
The lambs play always, they know no better, — 

They are only one times one. 

Moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 

And shining so round and low ; 10 

You were bright, ah bright ! but your light is failing, — 
You are nothing now but a bow. 

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, 
That God has hidden your face ? 

1 hope if you have, you '11 soon be forgiven, 15 

And shine again in your place. 

O velvet bee, you 're a dusty fellow ; 

You Ve powdered your legs with gold ! 
O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow, 

Give me your money to hold ! 20 

O columbine, open your folded wrapper, 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! 

cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper 
That hangs in your clear green bell ! 

And show me your nest, with the young ones in it, — 25 
I will not steal them away ; 

1 am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet, — 
I am seven times one to-day. 



FIFTH YEAR 

BARBARA FRIETCHIE ^ 

John Greenleaf Whittieb 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 5 

Apple and peach tree fruited deep. 

Fair as the garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 

When Lee marched over the mountain-wall ; 10 

^ ** This poem," says Mr. Whittier, " was written in strict conformity 
to the account of the incident as I had it from respectable and trust- 
worthy sources. It has since been the subject of a g-ood deal of con- 
flicting" testimony, and the story was probably incorrect in some of 
its details. It is admitted by all that Barbara Frietchie was no myth, 
but a worthy and highly esteemed gentlewoman, intensely loyal and a 
hater of the Slavery Rebellion, holding her Union flag sacred and 
keeping it with her Bible ; that when the Confederates halted before 
her house, and entered her dooryard, she denounced them in vigorous 
language, shook her cane in their faces, and drove them out: and 
when General Burnside's troops followed close upon Jackson's, she 
waved her flag and cheered them. It is stated that May Quantrell, a 
brave and loyal lady in another part of the city, did wave her flag in 
sight of the Confederates. It is possible that there has been a blend- 
ing of the two incidents." 



FIFTH YEAR 49 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars. 
Forty flags with their crimson bars. 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 15 

Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 20 

In her attic window the staff she set. 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 25 

He glanced ; the old flag met his sight. 

" Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
" Fire I " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 

It rent the banner with seam and gash. 30 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 

She leaned far out on the window-sill. 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 



50 FIFTH YEAR 



(( 



Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35 

But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame. 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 

To life at that woman's deed and word ; 40 

" Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet ; 

All day long that free flag tost 45 

Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 

Shone over it with a warm good-night. 50 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er. 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 55 

Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Kound thy symbol of light and law ; 

And ever the stars above look down 

On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 60 



FIFTH YEAR 51 

SHERIDAN'S RIDE^ 

Thomas Buchanan Read 

Up from the South at break of day, 

Bringing from Winchester fresh dismay, 

The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 

Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 

The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 5 

Telling the battle was on once more, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 

Thundered along the horizon's bar ; 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 10 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 

Making the blood of the listener cold. 

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 15 

A good broad highway leading down ; 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 

A steed as black as the steeds of night 

Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. 

As if he knew the terrible need, 20 

He stretched away with the utmost speed ; 

Hills rose and fell, — but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, 
The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth ; 25 

1 From the Poetical Works of T. Buchanan Read, published 
by J. B. Lippincott Company. 



52 FIFTH YEAR 

Or the tail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 30 

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape sped away behind 36 

Like an ocean flying before the wind. 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 

Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 

But lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 40 

With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the General saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops. 
What was done ? what to do ? a glance told him both. 
Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, 45 

He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, 
And the wave of retreat checked its course there, 

because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust, the black charger was gray ; 
By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, 50 
He seemed to the whole great army to say, 
" I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester down, to save the day ! " 

Hurrah ! Hurrah for Sheridan ! 

Hurrah ! Hurrah for horse and man ! 56 



FIFTH YEAR 53 

And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky, 
The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, 
There with the glorious General's name. 
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, 60 
" Here is the steed that saved the day. 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight. 
From Winchester, twenty miles away ! " 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS 
IN 'NEW ENGLAND 

Felicia D. Hemans 

The breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rockbound coast. 
And the woods against a stormy sky 

Their giant branches tossed. 

And the heavy night hung dark 5 

The hills and water o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes. 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 10 

Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame. 

Not as the flying come. 

In silence and in fear ; — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 15 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea : 



54 FIFTH YEAR 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free ! 20 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam : 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — - 

This was their welcome home ! 

There were men with hoary hair 26 

Amidst that pilgrim band : — 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye. 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 30 

There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar ? 

Bright jewels of the mine ? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? 36 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod: 
They have left unstained what there they found, — 

Freedom to worship God. 40 



LITTLE GOTTLIEB 

A CHRISTMAS STORY 
Phcebe Gary 

Across the German Ocean, 
In a country far from our own, 

Once, a poor little boy, named Gottlieb, 
Lived with his mother alone. 



FIFTH YEAR BB 

They dwelt in the part of a village 5 

Where the houses were poor and small, 

But the home of little Gottlieb 
Was the poorest one of all. 

He was not large enough to work, 

And his mother could do no more 10 

(Though she scarcely laid her knitting down) 

Than keep the wolf from the door. 

She had to take their threadbare clothes. 

And turn, and patch, and darn ; 
For never any woman yet 15 

Grew rich by knitting yarn. 

And oft at night, beside her chair. 

Would Gottlieb sit, and plan 
The wonderful things he would do for her, 

When he grew to be a man. 20 

One night she sat and knitted. 

And Gottlieb sat and dreamed, 
When a happy fancy all at once 

Upon his vision beamed. 

'T was only a week till Christmas, 25 

And Gottlieb knew that then 
The Christ-child, who was born that day, 

Sent down good gifts to men. 

But he said, " He will never find us. 

Our home is so mean and small, 30 

And we, who have most need of them, 

Will get no gifts at all." 



56 FIFTH YEAR 

When all at once a happy light 

Came into his eyes so blue, 
And lighted up his face with smiles, 35 

As he thought what he could do. 

Next day when the postman's letters 

Came from all over the land ; 
Came one for the Christ-child, written 

In a child's poor trembling hand. 40 

You may think he was sorely puzzled 

What in the world to do ; 
So he went to the Burgomaster, 

As the wisest man he knew. 

And when they opened the letter, 45 

They stood almost dismayed 
That such a little child should dare 

To ask the Lord for aid. 

Then the Burgomaster stammered. 

And scarce knew what to speak, 50 

And hastily he brushed aside 

A drop, like a tear, from his cheek. 

Then up he spoke right gruffly, 
And he turned himself about : 
" This must be a very foolish boy, 55 

And a small one, too, no doubt.'^ 

But when six rosy children 
That night about him pressed, 

Poor, trusting little Gottlieb 

Stood near him, with the rest. 60 



FIFTH YEAR 57 

And he heard his simple, touching prayer, 

Through all their noisy play ; 
Though he tried his very best to put 

The thought of him away. 

A wise and learned man was he, 65 

Men called him good and just ; 
But his wisdom seemed like foolishness, 

By that weak child's simple trust. 

Now when the morn of the Christmas came, 

And the long, long week was done, 70 

Poor Gottlieb, who scarce could sleep, 
Kose up before the sun, 

And hastened to his mother. 

But he scarce might speak for fear, 

When he saw her wondering look, and saw 75 

The Burgomaster near. 

He was n't afraid of the Holy Babe, 

Nor his mother, meek and mild ; 
But he felt as if so great a man 

Had never been a child. 80 

Amazed the poor child looked, to find 

The hearth was piled with wood, 
And the table, never full before. 

Was heaped with dainty food. 

Then half to hide from himself the truth 85 

The Burgomaster said. 
While the mother blessed him on her knees, 

And Gottlieb shook for dread, 



58 FIFTH YEAR 

" Nay, give no thanks, my good dame, 

To such as me for aid, 90 

Be grateful to your little son. 

And the Lord to whom he prayed ! " 



i( 



Then turning round to Gottlieb, 

" Your written prayer, you see, 
Came not to whom it was addressed, 95 

It only came to me ! 

'T was but a foolish thing you did, 

As you must understand ; 
For though the gifts are yours, you know, 

You have them from my hand." 100 



Then Gottlieb answered fearlessly, 
Where he humbly stood apart, 
" But the Christ-child sent them all the same, 
He put the thought in your heart ! " 



CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE 1 
Phillips Brooks 

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night ! 
Christmas in lands of the fir-tree and pine, 
Christmas in lands of the palm-tree and vine, 
Christmas where snow-peaks stand solemn and white, 
Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright. 5 

Christmas where children are hopeful and gay, 
Christmas where old men are patient and gray, 
Christmas where peace, like a dove in his flight, 

^ Used by permission of £. F. Dutton and Company. 



FIFTH YEAR 59 

Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight ; 
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night ! 10 

For the Christ-child who comes is the master of all ; 
No palace too great, and no cottage too small. 



THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL 

William Ross Wallace 

He lay upon his dying bed ; his eye was growing dim, 
When with a feeble voice he called his weeping son to 

him. 
"Weep not, my boy! " the veteran said, "I bow to 

Heaven's high will ; 
But quickly from yon antlers bring the sword of Bunker 

Hill." 

The sword was brought, the soldier's eye lit with a sud- 
den flame, 5 

And as he grasped the ancient blade, he murmured 
Warren's name ; 

Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold — but what is 
richer still, 

I leave you, mark me, mark me now — the sword of 
Bunker Hill. 

"'Twas on that dread, immortal day, I dared the 
Briton's band, 

A captain raised his blade on me, — I tore it from his 
hand ; 10 

And while the glorious battle raged, it lightened free- 
dom's will — 

For, boy, the God of freedom blessed the sword of 
Bunker Hill. 



60 FIFTH YEAR 

" O, keep the sword " — his accents broke, a smile, and 

he was dead ; 
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade upon 

that dying bed. 
The son remains, the sword remains, its glory growing 

still; 15 

And twenty millions bless the sire, and sword of Bunker 

Hill. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN* 
William Cullen Bryant 

Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, 

Gentle and merciful and just ! 
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear 

The sword of power, a nation's trust ! 

In sorrow by thy bier we stand, 5 

Amid the awe that hushes all. 
And speak the anguish of a land 

That shook with horror at thy fall. 

Thy task is done ; the bond are free : 

We bear thee to an honored grave, 10 

Whose proudest monument shall be 
The broken fetters of the slave. 

Pure was thy life ; its bloody close 

Hath placed thee with the sons of light. 

Among the noble host of those 15 

Who perished in the cause of Right. 

^ Written by request, when the funeral procession of the martyred 
President passed through the streets of New York. 



PfPPP^^^^^^if^^i^ 



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FIFTH YEAR 61 

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 

Francis Scott Key 

O SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 

gleaming — 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the 

clouds of the fight. 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 

streaming ! 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 5 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 

there ; 
O ! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ? 

On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence 

reposes, . 10 

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, 

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream ; 
'T is the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave 15 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion 

A home and a country should leave us no more ? 
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps* 
pollution. 20 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave ; 



62 FIFTH YEAR 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ! 

O ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 25 

Between their loved homes and the war's desola- 
tion. 
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued 
land 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us 
a nation. 
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto — "/n God is our trust : " 30 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. 



AMERICA 

Samuel Francis Smith 

My country, 't is of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing ; 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrim's pride, 5 

From every mountain-side 

Let freedom ring. 

My native country, thee. 
Land of the noble free, — 

Thy name I love ; 10 

I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills ; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 



FIFTH YEAR 63 

Let music swell the breeze, 15 

And ring from all the trees, 

Sweet freedom's song ; 
Let mortal tongues awake, 
Let all that breathe partake, 
Let rocks their silence break, — 20 

The sound prolong. 

Our fathers' God, to Thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To Thee I sing ; 
Long may our land be bright 25 

With freedom's holy light ; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God our King. 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE^ 
Henky Wadsworth Longfellow 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 5 

He said to his friend, " If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night. 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 

^ Mr. Longfellow imagined a party of friends met at a country inn, 
and telling tales before the fire. The first of these Tales of a Way- 
side Inn was by the landlord, and is this story of Paul Revere. Revere 
was an American patriot, a silversmith and engraver by trade, whose 
tea-pots and cream jugs and tankards may be found in old Boston 
families. He was a spirited man, and in the secrets of the Boston 
patriots. 



64 FIFTH YEAR 

Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 10 

And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then he said " Good night ! " and with muffled oar 15 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore. 

Just as the moon rose over the bay, 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 20 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 25 

Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers. 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 30 

9. There has been some discussion as to the church tower from 
which the lanterns were hung, some claiming that the church was 
the old North Meeting-house in North Square, pulled down 
afterward for fuel, during the siege of Boston ; but the evidence 
points more clearly to Christ Church, still standing, and often 
spoken of as the North Church. The poet has departed some- 
what from the actual historic facts, since Revere did not watch 
for the lights, nor did he reach Concord. In 1894, when April 
19 was made a holiday in Massachusetts, under the name of 
Patriots' Day, there was an attempt at acting out the famous 
story of the ride. 



FIFTH YEAR 65 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, 

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 

To the belfry-chamber overhead, 

And startled the pigeons from their perch 

On the sombre rafters that round him made 35 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 

To the highest window in the wall, 

Where he paused to listen and look down 

A moment on the roofs of the town, 40 

And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 

In their night encampment on the hill. 

Wrapped in silence so deep and still 

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 45 

The watchful night-wind, as it went 

Creeping along from tent to tent. 

And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 50 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away. 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 55 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. 

Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 

On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 

Now he patted his horse's side, 60 

Now gazed at the landscape far and near. 

Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 



66 FIFTH YEAR 

And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 

But mostly he watched with eager search 

The belfry -tower of the Old North Church, 65 

As it rose above the graves on the hill, 

Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 

And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 

A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 70 

But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 

A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 75 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 

That was all ! And vet, through the gloom and the 

light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 
And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 80 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep. 

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 

And under the alders that skirt its edge. 

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 85 

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock. 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock. 

And the barking of the farmer's dog, 90 

And felt the damp of the river fog. 

That rises after the sun goes down. 



FIFTH YEAR 67 

It was one by the village clock, 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 95 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare. 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 100 

It was two by the village clock. 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock. 

And the twitter of birds among the trees. 

And felt the breath of the morning breeze 105 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 

Who that day would be lying dead. 

Pierced by a British musket-ball. 110 

You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, 
Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 115 

Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 

And so through the night went his cry of alarm 120 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 

A cry of defiance and not of fear, 



68 FIFTH YEAR 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door. 

And a word that shall echo f orevermore ! 

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 125 

Through all our history, to the last. 

In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 

The people will waken and listen to hear 

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed. 

And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 130 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

Francis Miles Finch 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron had fled. 

Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 

Asleep are the ranks of the dead : 

Under the sod and the dew, 5 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the one, the Blue, 
Under the other, the Gray, 

These in the robings of glory. 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 10 

All with the battle-blood gory. 

In the dusk of eternity meet : 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 15 

Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 
The desolate mourners go. 



FIFTH YEAR 69 

Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe : 20 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the roses, the Blue, 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor, 25 

The morning sun-rays fall. 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all : 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 30 

'Broidered with gold, the Blue, 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth. 

On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 35 

The cooling drip of the rain : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 40 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done, 
In the storm of the years that are fading 
No braver battle was won : 

Under the sod and the dew, 45 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 



70 FIFTH YEAR 

No more shall the war cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red ; 50 

They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day, 
Love and tears for the Blue, 55 

Tears and love for the Gray. 



SIXTH YEAR 

GLUCK'S VISITOR (First Visit) 
Adapted from John Ruskin 

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular 
appearance of his visitor that he remained fixed withi- 
out uttering a word, until the old gentleman, having 
performed another and more energetic concerto on the 
knocker, turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. 
In so doing he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow 
head jammed in the window, with its mouth and eyes 
very wide open indeed. 

" Hollo ! " said the little gentleman, " that 's not the 
way to answer the door ; I 'm wet, let me in." 

To do the little gentleman justice, he was wet. His 
feather hung down, dripping like an unbrella; and 
from the ends of his moustaches the water was run- 
ning into his waistcoat pockets, and out again like a 
mill stream. 

" I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, " I 'm very sorry, 
but I really can't." 

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman. 

"I can't let you in, sir, — I can't indeed ; my bro- 
thers would beat me to death, sir, if I thought of such 
a thing. W^hat do you want, sir ? " 

"Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly. "I 
want fire and shelter; and there's your great fire 
there, blazing, crackling, and dancing on the walls, 
with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say ; I only want 
to warm myself." 



72 SIXTH YEAR 

Gluck had had his head so long out of the window 
by this time that he began to feel it was really un- 
pleasantly cold, and when he turned and saw the beau- 
tiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long 
bright tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking 
its chops at the savory smell of the leg of mutton, his 
heart melted within him that it should be burning 
away for nothing. " He does look very wet," said little 
Gluck ; " I '11 just let him in for a quarter of an hour." 
Bound he went to the door and opened it ; and as the 
little gentleman walked in there came a gust of wind 
through the house that made the old chimneys totter. 

" That 's a good boy," said the little gentleman. 
" Never mind your brothers. I '11 talk to them." 

*'^^Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. 
" I can't let you stay till they come ; they 'd be the 
death of me." 

"Pear me," said the old gentleman, '''I'm very sorry 
to hear that. How long may I stay?" 

" Only till the mutton 's done, sir," replied Gluck, 
" and it 's very brown." 

Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, 
and sat himself down on the hob, with the top of his 
cap accommodated up the chimney, for it was a gi'cat 
deal too high for the roof. 

" You '11 soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat 
down again to turn the mutton. But the old gentle- 
man did 7iot dry there, but went on drip, drip, dripping 
among the cinders, and the fire fizzed, and sputtered, 
and began to look very black and uncomfortable. 
Never was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like a 
gutter. 

'^I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after 
watching for a quarter of an hour the water spread- 



SIXTH YEAR 73 

ing in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor; 
"may n't I take your cloak? " 

'' No, thank you," said the old gentleman. 

" Your cap, sir ? " 

" I am all right, thank you," said the old gentle- 
man, rather gruffly. 

" But, — sir, — I 'm very sorry," said Gluck, hesitat- 
ingly ; " but — really, sir, — you 're — putting the fire 
out." 

" It '11 take longer to do the mutton, then," replied 
his visitor, dryly. 

Gluck was much puzzled by the behavior of his 
guest ; it was such a strange mixture of coolness and 
humility. He turned away at the string meditatively 
for another five minutes. 

" That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentle- 
man at length. " Can't you give me a little bit ? " 

" Impossible, sir," said Gluck. 

" I 'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman ; 
" I 've had nothing to eat yesterday nor to-day. They 
surely couldn't miss a bit from the knuckle ! " 

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite 
melted Gluck's heart. '' They promised me one slice 
to-day, sir," said he ; ^' I can give you that, but not a 
bit more." 

" That 's a good boy," said the old gentleman again. 

Then Gluck warmed a plate, and sharpened a knife, 
" I don't care if I do get beaten for it," thought he. 
Just as he had cut a large slice out of the mutton, 
there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old 
gentleman jumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly 
become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice 
into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at exacti- 
tude, and ran to open the door. 



74 SIXTH YEAR 

*' What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" 
said Schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his umbrella 
in Gluck's face. 

" Ay ! what for, indeed, you little vagabond ? " said 
Hans, administering an educational box on the ear, as 
he followed his brother into the kitchen. 

"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz, when he opened 
the door. 

" Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken 
his cap off, and was standing in the middle of the 
kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible velocity. 

" Who 's that ? " said Schwartz, catching up a roll- 
ing-pin, and turning to Gluck with a fierce frown. 

" I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck in 
great terror. 

" How did he get in ? " roared Schwartz. 

*' My dear brother," said Gluck, deprecatingly, " he 
was so very wet ! " 

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head ; 
but, at the instant, the old gentleman interposed his 
conical cap, on which it crashed with a shock that 
shook the water out of it all over the room. What was 
very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap 
than it flew out of Schwartz's hand, spinning like a 
straw in a high wind, and fell into the corner at the 
farther end of the room. 

" Who are you, sir ? " demanded Schwartz, turning 
upon him. 

" What 's your business? " snarled Hans. 

"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman 
began very modestly, " and I saw your fire through 
the window, and begged shelter for a quarter of an 
hour." 

" Have the goodness ^to walk out again, then," said 



SIXTH YEAR 75 

Schwartz. " We've quite enough water in our kitchen 
without making it a drying-house." 

" It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir ; 
look at my gray hairs." They hung down to his shoul- 
ders, as I told you before. 

" Ay ! " said Hans, " there are enough of them to 
keep you warm. Walk ! " 

''I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare 
me a bit of bread before I go? " 

" Bread, indeed ! " said Schwartz ; "do you suppose 
we 've nothing to do with our bread but to give it to 
such red-nosed fellows as you ? " 

" Why don't you sell your feather," said Hans, 
sneeringly. " Out with you ! " 

" A little bit — " said the old gentleman. 

"Be off ! " said Schwartz. 

" Pray, gentlemen — " 

" Off, and be hanged ! " cried Hans, seizing him by 
the collar. But he had no sooner touched the old gen- 
tleman's collar, than away he went after the rolling- 
pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the 
corner on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very an- 
gry, and ran at the old gentleman to turn him out ; 
but he also had hardly touched him, when away he 
went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head 
against the wallas he tumbled into the corner. And so 
there they lay, all three. 

Then the old gentleman spun himself round with 
velocity in the opposite direction ; clapped his cap on 
his head, gave an additional twist to his corkscrew 
moustaches, and replied with perfect coolness : " Gen- 
tlemen, I wish you a very good-morning. At twelve 
o'clock to-night I '11 call again ; after such a refusal of 
hospitality as I have just experienced, you will not be 
surprised if that visit is the last I ever pay you." 



76 SIXTH YEAR 

MAIZE, THE NATION'S EMBLEM 

Celia Thaxter 

Upon a hundred thousand plains 

Its banners rustle in the breeze, 
O'er all the nation's wide domains 

From coast to coast betwixt the seas. 

It storms the hills and fills the vales, 5 

It marches like an army grand, 
The continent its presence hails, 

Its beauty brightens all the land. 

Far back through history's shadowy page 

It shines, a power of boundless good, 10 

The people's prop from age to age, 
The one unfailing wealth of food. 

God's gift to the New World's great need 
That helped to build the nation's strength, 

Up through beginnings rude to lead 15 

A higher race of men at length. 

How straight and tall and stately stand 
Its serried stalks upright and strong ! 

How nobly are its outlines planned. 

What grace and charm to it belong ! 20 

What splendor in its rustling leaves ! 

What richness in its close-set gold ! 
What largess in its clustered sheaves, 

New every year, though ages old ! 

America, from thy broad breast, 25 

It sprang, beneficent and bright, 



SIXTH YEAR 77 

Of all thy gifts from heaven the best, 
For the world's succor and delight. 

Then do it honor, give it praise ! 

A noble emblem should be ours; — 30 

Upon thy fair shield set thy Maize, 

More glorious than a myriad flowers. 

And let thy States their garland bring, 
Each its own lovely blossom-sign, 

But leading all let Maize be king, 35 

Holding its place by right divine. 



THE STORY OF MONDAMIN 

FROM THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

On the fourth day of his fasting 
In his lodge he lay exhausted ; 
From his couch of leaves and branches 
Gazing with half-open eyelids. 
Full of shadowy dreams and visions, 5 

On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 
On the gleaming of the water, 
On the splendor of the sunset. 

And he saw a youth approaching, 
Dressed in garments green and yellow, 10 

Coming through the purple twilight. 
Through the splendor of the sunset ; 
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft and golden. 

Standing at the open doorway, 15 

Long he looked at Hiawatha, 



78 SIXTH YEAR 

Looked with pity and compassion 

On his wasted form and features, 

And, in accents like the sighing 

Of the South- Wind in the tree-tops, 20 

Said he, " O my Hiawatha ! 

All your prayers are heard in heaven, 

For you pray not like the others ; 

Not for greater skill in hunting, 

Not for greater craft in fishing, 25 

Not for triumph in the battle. 

Nor renown among the warriors, 

But for profit of the people, 

For advantage of the nations. 

" From the Master of Life descending, 30 
I, the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct you. 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have prayed for. 
Rise up from your bed of branches, 35 

Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me ! " 

Faint with famine, Hiawatha 
Started from his bed of branches. 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 40 

Came, and wrestled with Mondamin : 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom. 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre. 45 

Thrice they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset. 
Till the darkness fell around them. 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 50 



SIXTH YEAR 79 

Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen. 

Tall and beautiful he stood there, 
In his garments green and yellow ; 
To and fro his plumes above him 65 

Waved and nodded with his breathing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him. 

And he cried, " O Hiawatha ! 
Bravely have you wrestled with me, 60 

Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me. 
And the Master of Life, who sees us, 
He will give to you the triumph ! " 

Then he smiled, and said : " To-morrow 
Is the last day of your conflict, 65 

Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and overcome me ; 
Make a bed for me to lie in. 
Where the rain may fall upon me. 
Where the sun may come and warm me : 70 
Strip these garments, green and yellow, 
Strip this nodding plumage from me. 
Lay me in the earth, and make it 
Soft and loose and light above me. 

" Let no hand disturb my slumber, 75 

Let no weed nor worm molest me. 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven. 
Come to haunt me and molest me. 
Only come yourself to watch me. 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 80 

Till I leap into the sunshine." 

And behold ! the young Mondamin, 
With his soft and shining tresses, 
Stood and beckoned at the doorway. 



80 SIXTH YEAR 

And as one in slumber walking, 
Pale and haggard, but undaunted. 
From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Came and wrestled with Mondamin. 
• •••••• 

Suddenly upon the greensward 
All alone stood Hiawatha, 90 

Panting with his wild exertion, 
Palpitating with the struggle ; 
And before him, breathless, lifeless, 
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, 
Plumage torn, and garments tattered, 95 

Dead he lay there in the sunset. 

And victorious Hiawatha ^ 

Made the grave as he commanded, 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Stripped his tattered plumage from him, 100 
Laid him in the earth, and made it 
Soft and loose and light above him. 

Day by day did Hiawatha 
Go to wait and watch beside it ; 
Kept the dark mould soft above it, 105 

Kept it clean from weeds and insects. 

Till at length a small green feather 
From the earth shot slowly upward, 
Then another and another. 

And before the Summer ended 110 

Stood the maize in all its beauty. 
With its shining robes about it. 
And its long, soft, yellow tresses ; 
And in rapture Hiawatha 

Cried aloud, " It is Mondamin ! 115 

Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin! " 



SIXTH YEAR 81 

• • • • • • • 

And still later, when the Autumn 
Changed the long, green leaves to yellow. 
And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yellow, 120 

Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from off them, 
As he once had stripped the wrestler. 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 125 

This new gift of the Great Spirit. 



THE CLOUD 
Percy Bysshb Shelley 

I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams ; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 5 

The sweet buds every one. 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 10 

And then again I dissolve it in rain. 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
And their great pines groan aghast ; 

And all the night 't is my pillow white, 15 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 

Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, 
Lightning my pilot sits ; 



82 SIXTH YEAR 

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 

It struggles and howls at fits ; 20 

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 25 

Over the lakes and the plains. 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile. 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes. 

And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

When the morning-star shines dead ; 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 35 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 

In the light of its golden wings. 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea 
beneath. 

Its ardors of rest and of love, 40 

And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest. 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 45 

Whom mortals call the moon. 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 



SIXTH YEAR 83 

Which only the angels hear, 50 

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer ; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 55 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 60 

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim. 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea, 
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, 65 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march. 

With hurricane, fire, and snow. 
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair. 

Is the million-colored bow ; 70 

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove. 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water. 

And the nursling of the sky ; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 75 

I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when with never a stain 

The pavilion of heaven is bare. 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex 
gleams. 

Build up the blue dome of air, 80 



84 SIXTH YEAR 

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the 

tomb, 
I arise and unbuild it again. 



CHRISTMASTIDE 
Richard Bukton 

Christmas time is a time of cold, 

Of weathers bleak and of winds a-blow ; 

Never a flower — fold on fold 

Of grace and beauty — tops the snow 

Or breaks the black and bitter mold. 5 

And yet 't is warm — for the chill and gloom 
Glow with love and with childhood's glee ; 

And yet 't is sweet — with the rich perfume 
Of sacrifice and of charity. 

Where are flowers more fair to see? 10 

Christmas tide, it is warm and sweet ; 
A whole world's heart at a Baby's feet ! 

KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS 
John Greenleaf Whittier 

Out from Jerusalem 

The king rode with his great 
War chiefs and lords of state. 

And Sheba's queen with them ; 

Comely, but black withal, 6 

To whom, perchance, belongs 



SIXTH YEAR 85 

That wondrous Song of songs, 
Sensuous and mystical, 

Whereto devout souls turn 

In fond, ecstatic dream, 10 

And through its earth-born theme 

The Love of loves discern. 

Proud in the Syrian sun. 

In gold and purple sheen. 

The dusky Ethiop queen 15 

Smiled on King Solomon. 

Wisest of men, he knew 

The languages of all 

The creatures great or small 
That trod the earth or flew. 20 

Across an ant-hill led 

The king's path, and he heard 

Its small folk, and their word 
He thus interpreted : 

Here comes the king men greet 25 

As wise and good and just, 

To crush us in the dust 
Under his heedless feet." 

The great king bowed his head. 

And saw the wide surprise 30 

Of the Queen of Sheba's eyes 
As he told her what they said. 

" O king ! " she whispered sweet, 
" Too happy fate have they 



(( 



86 SIXTH YEAR 

Who perish in thy way 35 

Beneath thy gracious feet ! 

" Thou of the God-lent crown, 

Shall these vile creatures dare 
Murmur against thee where 
The knees of kings kneel down ? " 40 

" Nay," Solomon replied, 

" The wise and strong should seek 
The welfare of the weak," 
And turned his horse aside. 

His train, with quick alarm, 45 

Curved with their leader round 
The ant-hill's peopled mound, 

And left it free from harm. 

The jewelled head bent low ; 

" O king ! " she said, " henceforth 50 

The secret of thy worth 
And wisdom well I know. 

" Happy must be the State 
Whose ruler heedeth more 
The murmurs of the poor 55 

Than flatteries of the great." 



SELECTIONS FROM SNOW-BOUND 

John Greenleaf Whittier 
THE MOTHER 

Our mother, while she turned her wheel 
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel. 
Told how the Indian hordes came down 



SIXTH YEAR 87 

At midnight on Cocheco town, 

And how her own great-uncle bore 5 

His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 

Recalling, in her fitting phrase, 

So rich and picturesque and free 

(The common unrhymed poetry 
Of simple life and country ways}, 10 

The story of her early days, — 
She made us welcome to her home ; 
Old hearths grew wide to give us room ; 
We stole with her a frightened look 
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, 15 

The fame whereof went far and wide 
Through all the simple country-side ; 
We heard the hawks at twilight play, 
The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 
The loon's weird laughter far away ; 20 

We fished her little trout-brook, knew 
What flowers in wood and meadow grew, 
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown 
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, 
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 25 

The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, 
And heard the wild geese calling loud 
Beneath the gray November cloud. 

THE SISTERS 

There, too, our elder sister plied 

Her evening task the stand beside ; 

A full, rich nature, free to trust. 

Truthful and almost sternly just, 

Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, 5 

4. Dover in New Hampshire. 



88 SIXTH YEAR 

And make her generous thought a fact, 
Keeping with many a slight disguise 
The secret of self-sacrifice. 
O heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best 
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest, 10 
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! 
How many a poor one's blessing went 
With thee beneath the low green tent 



Whose curtain never outward swings 



As one who held herself a part 15 

Of all she saw, and let her heart 

Against the household bosom lean, 
Upon the motley-braided mat 
Our youngest and our dearest sat, 
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, 20 

Now bathed in the unfading green 
And holy peace of Paradise. 
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 

Or from the shade of saintly palms, 

Or silver reach of river calms, 25 

Do those large eyes behold me still ? 
With me one little year ago : — 
The chill weight of the winter snow 

For months upon her grave has lain ; 
And now, when summer south-winds blow 30 

And brier and harebell bloom again, 
I tread the pleasant paths we trod, 
I see the violet-sprinkled sod 
Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak. 
The hillside flowers she loved to seek, 35 

Yet following me where'er I went 
With dark eyes full of love's content. 
The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills 



SIXTH YEAR 89 

The air with sweetness ; all the hills 
Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; 40 

But still I wait with ear and eye 
For something gone which should be nigh, 
A loss in all familiar things, 
In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. 
And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee, 46 

Am I not richer than of old? 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, 

The master of the district school 

Held at the fire his favorite place. 

Its warm glow lit a laughing face 

Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared 5 

The uncertain prophecy of beard. 

He teased the mitten-blinded cat, 

Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat. 

Sang songs, and told us what befalls 

In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 10 

Born the wild Northern hills among, 

From whence his yeoman father wrung 

By patient toil subsistence scant, 

Not competence and yet not want. 

He early gained the power to pay 15 

His cheerful, self-reliant way ; 

Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 

To peddle wares from town to town ; 

Or through the long vacation's reach 

In lonely lowland districts teach, 20 

Where all the droll experience found 

At stranger hearths in boarding round. 

The moonlit skater's keen delight. 



90 SIXTH YEAR 

The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, 

The rustic party, with its rough 25 

Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, 

And whirling-plate, and forfeits paid. 

His winter task a pastime made. 

Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 

He tuned his merry violin, 30 

Or played the athlete in the barn, 

Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, 

Or mirth-provoking versions told 

Of classic legends rare and old, 

Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome 35 

Had all the commonplace of home. 

And little seemed at best the odds 

'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods ; 

Where Pindus-born Arachthus took 

The guise of any grist-mill brook, 40 

And dread Olympus at his will 

Became a huckleberry hill. 

A careless boy that night he seemed ; 
But at his desk he had the look 

And air of one who wisely schemed, 45 

And hostage from the future took 
In trained thought and lore of book. 

Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he 

Shall Freedom's young apostles be. 

Who, following in War's bloody trail, 50 

Shall every lingering wrong assail ; 

All chains from limb and spirit strike, 

Uplift the black and white alike ; 

Scatter before their swift advance 

The darkness and the ignorance, 55 

The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, 



SIXTH YEAR 91 

Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, 

Made murder pastime, and the hell 

Of prison-torture possible ; 

The cruel lie of caste refute, 60 

Old forms remould, and substitute 

For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, 

For blind routine, wise-handed skill ; 

A school-house plant on every hill. 

Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 65 

The quick wires of intelligence ; 

Till North and South together brought 

Shall own the same electric thought, 

In peace a common flag salute. 

And, side by side in labor's free 70 

And unresentful rivalry, 

Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 



WASHINGTON 

(From Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte) 
Lord Byron 

The Roman, when his burning heart 
Was slaked with blood of Rome, 

Threw down the dagger — dared depart, 
In savage grandeur, home. 

He dared depart in utter scorn 5 

Of men that such a yoke had borne, 
Yet left him such a doom ! 

His only glory was that hour 

Of self-upheld abandon'd power. 

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway 10 

Had lost its quickening spell, 



92 SIXTH YEAR 

Cast crowns for rosaries away, 

An empire for a cell ; 
A strict accountant of his beads, 
A subtle disputant on creeds, 15 

His dotage trifled well : 
Yet better had he neither known 
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne* 
• •■• • • • • • 

Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust 

Is vile as vulgar clay ; 20 

Thy scales, Mortality ! are just 

To all that pass away : 
But yet methought the living great 
Some higher sparks should animate, 

To dazzle and dismay : 25 

Nor seem'd Contempt could thus make mirth 
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth. 

Where may the wearied eye repose 

When gazing on the Great ; 
Where neither guilty glory glows, 30 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes — one — the first — the last — the best — 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

Whom envy dared not hate. 
Bequeathed the name of Washington, 35 

To make men blush there was but one ! 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 



SIXTH YEAR 93 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 5 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth, 10 

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 
The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 15 

For I fear a hurricane. 

" Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 20 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 25 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length, 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter. 
And do not tremble so ; 30 

For I can weather the roughest gale 
That ever wind did blow." 



94 SIXTH YEAR 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 35 

And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring. 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" 'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 40 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea! " 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 45 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word, 
A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face turned to the skies, 50 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 
That saved she might be ; 54 

And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 
On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 60 



SIXTH YEAR 95 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land : 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 65 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 70 

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 75 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair. 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 80 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast. 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 85 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this. 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



m SIXTH YEAR 

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL 

(From the German of Julius Mosen) 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

On the cross the dying Saviour 
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, 

Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling 
In his pierced and bleeding palm. 

And by all the world forsaken, 6 

Sees He how with zealous care 
At the ruthless nail of iron 

A little bird is striving there. 

Stained with blood and never tiring, 

With its beak it doth not cease, 10 

From the cross 't would free the Saviour, 
Its Creator's Son release. 

And the Saviour speaks in mildness : 
" Blest be thou of all the good ! 

Bear, as token of this moment, 15 

Marks of blood and holy rood ! '* 

And that bird is called the crossbill ; 

Covered all with blood so clear, 
In the groves of pine it singeth 

Songs, like legends, strange to hear. 20 



SIXTH YEAR 97 

THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET ^ 

Henby van Dyke 

I 
Where 's your kingdom, little king ? 
Where 's the land you call your own, 
Where 's the palace, and your throne ? 
Fluttering lightly on the wing 

Through the blossom-world of May, 5 

Whither lies your royal way? 
Where 's the realm that owns your sway, 
Little king ? 

Far to northward lies a land. 

Where the trees together stand 10 

Closer than the blades of wheat. 

When the summer is complete. 

Like a robe the forests hide 

Lonely vale and mountain side : 

Balsam, hemlock, spruce, and pine, — 15 

All those mighty trees are mine. 

There 's a river flowing free ; 

All its waves belong to me. 

There 's a lake so clear and bright 

Stars shine out of it all night, 20 

And the rowan-berries red 

Round it like a girdle spread. 

Feasting plentiful and fine. 

Air that cheers the heart like wine, 

Royal pleasures by the score, 25 

Wait for me in Labrador. 

There I 'U build my dainty nest ; 

1 FTomTheToilingof Felix and Other Poems. Copyright, 1900, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



98 SIXTH YEAR 

There I '11 fix my court and rest ; 

There from dawn to dark I '11 sing : 

Happy kingdom ! Lucky king ! 30 

II 

Back again, my little king ! 
Is your happy kingdom lost 
To that rebel knave, Jack Frost ? 

Have you felt the snow-flakes sting ? 

Autumn is a rude disrober ; 35 

Houseless, homeless in October, 
Whither now ? Your plight is sober, 
Exiled king ! 

Far to southward lie the regions 

Where my loyal flower-legions 40 

Hold possession of the year, 

Filling every month with cheer. 

Christmas wakes the winter rose ; 

New Year daffodils unclose ; 

Yellow jasmine through the woods 45 

Runs in March with golden floods, 

Dropping from the tallest trees 

Shining streams that never freeze. 

Thither I must find my way, 

Fly by night and feed by day, — 50 

Till I see the southern moon 

Glistening on the broad lagoon. 

Where the cypress' vivid green, 

And the dark magnolia's sheen. 

Weave a shelter round my home. 65 

There the snow-storms never come : 

There the bannered mosses gray 

In the breezes gently sway, 



SIXTH YEAR 99 

Hanging low on every side 

Round the covert where I hide. 60 

There I hold my winter court, 

Full of merriment and sport : 

There I take my ease and sing: 

Happy kingdom ! Lucky king ! 

Ill 

Little boaster, vagrant king ! 65 

Neither north nor south is yours : 
You 've no kingdom that endures. 

Wandering every fall and spring, 
With your painted crown so slender. 
And your talk of royal splendor, 70 

Must I call you a Pretender, 
Landless king ? 

Never king by right divine 

Ruled a richer realm than mine ! 

What are lands and golden crowns, 75 

Armies, fortresses, and towns, 

Jewels, sceptres, robes, and rings, — 

What are these to song and wings ? 

Everywhere that I can fly, 

There I own the earth and sky; 80 

Everywhere that I can sing. 

There I 'm happy as a king. 

TO A WATERFOWL 
William Cullen Bryant 

Whither, midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 



100 SIXTH YEAR 

Vainly the fowler's eye 5 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — 15 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned. 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 20 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou 'rt gone ! the abyss of heaven 25 

Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given. 

And shall not soon depart. 

He, who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight. 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 31 

Will lead my steps aright. 



SIXTH YEAR 101 

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD 

Theodore O'Hara 

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat 

The soldier's last tattoo ; 
No more on Life's parade shall meet 

That brave and fallen few. 
On Fame's eternal camping-ground 5 

Their silent tents are spread, 
And Glory guards, with solemn round, 

The bivouac of the dead. 

No rumor of the foe's advance 

Now swells upon the wind ; 10 

No troubled thought at midnight haunts 

Of loved ones left behind ; 
No vision of the morrow's strife 

The warrior's dream alarms ; 
No braying horn nor screaming fife 15 

At dawn shall call to arms. 

Their shivered swords are red with rust, 

Their plumed heads are bowed ; 
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, 

Is now their martial shroud. 20 

And plenteous funeral tears have washed 

The red stains from each brow, 
And the proud forms, by battle gashed, 

Are free from anguish now. 

The neighing troop, the flashing blade, 25 

The bugle's stirring blast, 
The charge, the dreadful cannonade. 

The din and shout, are past ; 



102 SIXTH YEAR 

Nor war's wild note nor glory's peal 

Shall thrill with fierce delight 30 

Those breasts that nevermore may feel 
The rapture of the fight. 

Like the fierce northern hurricane 

That sweeps his great plateau, 
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain, 35 

Came down the serried foe. 
Who heard the thunder of the fray _ 

Break o'er the field beneath, 
Knew well the watchword of that day 

Was " Victory or Death." 40 

Long had the doubtful conflict raged 

O'er all that stricken plain, 
For never fiercer fight had waged 

The vengeful blood of Spain ; 
And still the storm of battle blew, 45 

Still swelled the gory tide ; 
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, 

Such odds his strength could bide. 

'T was in that hour his stern command 

Called to a martyr's grave 50 

The flower of his beloved land, 

The nation's flag to save. 
By rivers of their fathers' gore 

His first-born laurels grew, 
And well he deemed the sons would pour 55 

Their lives for glory too. 

Full many a norther's breath has swept 
O'er Augostura's plain, 



SIXTH YEAR 103 

And long the pitying sky has wept 

Above its mouldered slain. 60 

The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, 

Or shepherd's pensive lay, 
Alone awakes each sullen height 

That frowned o'er that dread fray. 

Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, 65 

Ye must not slumber there. 
Where stranger steps and tongues resound 

Along the heedless air. 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Shall be your fitter grave : 70 

She claims from war his richest spoil — 

The ashes of her brave. 

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, 

Far from the gory field, 
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast 75 

On many a bloody shield ; 
The sunshine of their native sky 

Smiles sadly on them here, 
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by 

The heroes' sepulchre. 80 

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead ! 

Dear as the blood ye gave ; 
No impious footstep here shall tread 

The herbage of your grave ; 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 85 

While Fame her record keeps. 
Or Honor points the hallowed spot 

Where Valor proudly sleeps. 



104 SIXTH YEAR 

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone 

In deathless song shall tell, 90 

When many a vanished age hath flown, 

The story how ye fell ; 
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight 

Nor Time's remorseless doom, 
Shall dim one ray of glory's light 95 

That gilds your deathless tomb. 



THE YELLOW VIOLET 

William Cullen Bryant 

When beechen bnds begin to swell. 

And woods the bluebird's warble know, 

The yellow violet's modest bell 

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 

Ere russet fields their green resume, 6 

Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 

To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
Alone is in the virgin air. 

Of all her train, the hands of Spring 

First plant thee in the watery mould, 10 

And I have seen thee blossoming 
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. 

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view 
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, 

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, 15 

And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat. 
And earthward bent thy gentle eye, 



SIXTH YEAR 105 

Unapt the passing view to meet, 

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. 20 

Oft, in the sunless April day, 

Thy early smile has stayed my walk ; 

But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
1 passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they, who climb to wealth, forget 25 

The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

I copied them — but I regret 

That I should ape the ways of pride. 

And when again the genial hour 

Awakes the painted tribes of light, 30 

I '11 not o'erlook the modest flower 

That made the woods of April bright. 



SEVENTH YEAR 

YUSSOUF 

James Russell Lowell 

A STRANGER came one night to Yussouf's tent, 

Saying, " Behold one outcast and in dread, 

Against whose life the bow of power is bent. 

Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head ; 

I come to thee for shelter and for food, 5 

To Yussouf , called through all our tribes ' The Good.' " 

" This tent is mine," said Yussouf, " but no more 

Than it is God's ; come in, and be at peace ; 

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store 

As I of His who buildeth over these 10 

Our tents his glorious roof of night and day, 

And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay." 

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night, 

And, waking him ere day, said : " Here is gold ; 

My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight ; 15 

Depart before the prying day grow bold." 

As one lamp lights another, nor grows less. 

So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 

That inward light the stranger's face made grand. 
Which shines from all self-conquest ; kneeling low, 20 
He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf's hand, 
Sobbing ; " O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so ; 



SEVENTH YEAR 107 

I will repay thee ; all this thou hast done 
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son ! " 

"Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf, "for with thee 
Into the desert, never to return, 26 

My one black thought shall ride away from me: 
First born, for whom by day and night I yearn. 
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees ; 
Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace ! " 30 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

I 
Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward. 
All in the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 
" Forward the Light Brigade ! 5 

Charge for the guns ! " he said. 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 

II 

" Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
Was there a man dismay'd ? 10 

Not tho' the soldier knew 

Some one had blunder'd. 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die. 15 

Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 



108 SEVENTH YEAR 

III 

Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 

Cannon in front of them 20 

Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well. 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of hell 25 

Rode the six hundred. 

IV 

Flash'd all their sabres bare, 

Flash'd as they turn'd in air 

Sabring the gunners there, 

Charging an army, while 30 

All the world wonder'd. 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' the line they broke ; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 35 

Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not, 

Not the six hundred. 



Cannon to right of them. 

Cannon to left of them, 40 

Cannon behind them 

Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell. 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 45 



SEVENTH YEAR 109 

Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of hell, 
All that was left of them, 
Left of six hundred. 

VI 

When can their glory fade ? 60 

O the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wonder'd. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! ' 55 



THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS 

James Russell Lowell 

There came a youth upon the earth, 

Some thousand years ago, 
Whose slender hands were nothing worth, 
Whether to plough, or reap, or sow. 

Upon an empty tortoise-shell 5 

He stretched some chords, and drew 
Music that made men's bosoms swell 
Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew. 

Then King Admetus, one who had 

Pure taste by right divine, 10 

Decreed his singing not too bad 
To hear between the cups of wine : 

And so, well pleased with being soothed 

Into a sweet half-sleep. 
Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, 15 
And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. 



110 SEVENTH YEAR 

His words were simple words enough, 

And yet he used them so, 
That what in other mouths was rough 
In his seemed musical and low. 20 

Men called him but a shiftless youth, 

In whom no good they saw ; 
And yet, unwittingly, in truth. 
They made his careless words their law. 

They knew not how he learned at all, 25 

For idly, hour by hour, 
He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, 
Or mused upon a common flower. 

It seemed the loveliness of things 

Did teach him all their use, 30 

For in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, 
He found a healing power profuse. 

Men granted that his speech was wise. 

But, when a glance they caught 
Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, 35 

They laughed, and called him good-f or-naught. 

Yet after he was dead and gone. 

And e'en his memory dim. 
Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, 
More full of love, because of him. 40 

And day by day more holy grew 
Each spot where he had trod. 
Till after-j^oets only knew 
Their first-born brother as a god. 



SEVENTH YEAR 111 

WENDELL PHILLIPS 

James Russell Lowell 

He stood upon the world's broad threshold ; wide 

The din of battle and of slaughter rose ; 

He saw God stand upon the weaker side, 

That sank in seeming loss before his foes : 

Many there were who made great haste and sold 5 

Unto the cunning enemy their swords, 

He scorned their gifts of fame, and power, and gold, 

And, underneath their soft and flowery words. 

Heard the cold serpent hiss ; therefore he went 

And humbly joined him to the weaker part, 10 

Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content 

So he could be the nearer to God's heart, 

And feel its solemn pulses sending blood 

Through all the widespread veins of endless good. 

THE PRESENT CRISIS 
James Russell Lowell 

When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad 

earth's aching breast 
Kuns a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east 

to west. 
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within 

him climb 
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime 
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem 

of Time. 5 

Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instan- 
taneous throe. 

When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems 
to and fro : 



112 SEVENTH YEAR 

At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start, 
Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips 

apart. 
And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath 

the Future's heart. 10 

So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a 

chill. 
Under continent to continent, the sense of coming 

ill, 
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies 

with God 
In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by 

the sod. 
Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the 

nobler clod. 15 

For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears 

along. 
Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of 

right or wrong ; 
Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's 

vast frame 
Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy 

or shame ; — 
In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal 

claim. 20 

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to 

decide. 
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or 

evil side ; 
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each 

the bloom or blight, 



SEVENTH YEAR 113 

Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon 

the right, 
And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness 

and that light. 25 

Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou 

shalt stand. 
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust 

against our land ? 
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 't is Truth alone 

is strong. 
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her 

throng 
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from 

all wrong. 30 

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments 

see. 
That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through 

Oblivion's sea ; 
Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding 

cry 
Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose 

feet earth's chaff must fly ; 
Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment 

hath passed by. 35 

Careless seems the great Avenger ; history's pages but 

record 
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems 

and the Word ; 
Truth forever on the scaffold. Wrong forever on the 

throne, — 



114 SEVENTH YEAR 

Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the 

dim unknown, 
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above 

his own. 40 

We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is 

great. 
Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm 

of fate. 
But the soul is still oracular ; amid the market's din, 
List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave 

within, — 
" They enslave their children's children who make 

compromise with sin." 45 

Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant 

brood. 
Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched 

the earth with blood. 
Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer 

day, 
Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable 

prey ; — 
Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless 

children play ? 50 

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her 
wretched crust. 

Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosper- 
ous to be just ; 

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward 
stands aside. 

Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified, 

And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had 
denied. 55 



SEVENTH YEAR 115 

Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, — they were 
souls that stood alone, 

While the men they agonized for hurled the contume- 
lious stone. 

Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden 
beam incline 

To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith 
divine, 

By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's 
supreme design. 60 

By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet 
I track. 

Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns 
not back. 

And these mounts of anguish number how each gen- 
eration learned 

One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet- 
hearts hath burned 

Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face 
to heaven upturned. 65 

For Humanity sweeps onward : where to-day the mar- 
tyr stands. 

On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his 
hands ; 

Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling 
fagots burn, 

While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe 
return 

To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden 
urn. 70 

'T is as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves 

Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves, 



116 SEVENTH YEAR 

Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light 

a crime ; — 
Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by 

men behind their time ? 
Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make 

Plymouth Rock sublime ? 75 

They were men of present valor, stalwart old icono- 
clasts. 

Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the 
Past's ; 

But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that 
hath made us free, 

Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender 
spirits flee 

The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove 
them across the sea. 80 

They have rights who dare maintain them ; we are 

traitors to our sires, 
Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit 

altar-fires ; 
Shall we make their creed our jailer ? Shall we, in 

our haste to slay, # 

From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral 

lamps away 
To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of 

to-day ? 85 

New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient 

good uncouth ; 
They must upward still, and onward, who would keep 

abreast of Truth ; 



SEVENTH YEAR 117 

Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must 
Pilgrims be, 

Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the 
desperate winter sea. 

Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood- 
rusted key. , 90 

THE HUSKERS 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal 
rain 

Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass 
again ; 

The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the wood- 
lands gay 

With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow- 
flowers of May. 

Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose 
broad and red, 5 

At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he 
sped ; 

Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened, and sub- 
dued, 

On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured 
wood. 

And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the 

night. 
Ho wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow 

light : 10 

Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the 

hill; 



118 SEVENTH YEAR 

And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, 
greener still. 

And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses 

of that sky. 
Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they 

knew not why ; 
And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the 

meadow brooks, 15 

Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of 

sweet looks. 

From spire and barn looked westerly the patient 

weathercocks ; 
But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as 

rocks. 
No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirel's 

dropping shell. 
And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling 

as they fell. 20 

The summer grains were harvested ; the stubble-fields 

lay dry. 
Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale 

green waves of rye ; 
But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with 

wood, 
Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop 

stood. 

Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks 
that, dry and sere, 25 

Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the 
yellow ear; 



SEVENTH YEAR 119 

Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant 

fold, 
And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's 

sphere of gold. 

There wrought the busy harvesters ; and many a creak- 
ing wain 

Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk 
and grain ; 30 

Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank 
down, at last, 

And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in bright- 
ness passed. 

And lo ! as through the western pines, on meadow, 

stream, and pond, 
Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond, 
Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory 

shone, 35 

And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into 

one ! 

As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away, 

And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil 
shadows lay ; 

From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet with- 
out name. 

Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry 
buskers came. 40 

Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks 

in the mow. 
Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene 

below ; 



120 SEVENTH YEAR 

The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears 

before, 
And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks 

glimmering o'er. 

Half hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of look and 
heart, 45 

Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart : 

While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in 
its shade. 

At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy 
children played. 

Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young 

and fair, 
Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft 

brown hair, 50 

The master of the village school, sleek of hair and 

smooth of tongue. 
To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking- 

ballad sung. 

ODE RECITED AT THE HARVARD 
COMMEMORATION 

July 21, 1865 

James Russell Lowell 

I 

VTeak-winged Is song, 
Nor aims at that clear-ethered height 
Whither the brave deed climbs for light : 

We seem to do them wrong. 
Bringing our robln's-leaf to deck their hearse 5 

Who in warm life-blood wrote their nobler verse, 



SEVENTH YEAR 121 

Our trivial song to honor those who come 

With ears attuned to strenuous trump and drum, 

And shaped in squadron-strophes their desire, 

Live battle-odes whose lines were steel and fire : 10 

Yet sometimes feathered words are strong, 
A gracious memory to buoy up and save 
From Lethe's dreamless ooze, the common grave 

Of the unventurous throng. 

II 

To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back 15 

Her wisest Scholars, those who understood 
The deeper teaching of her mystic tome. 

And offered their fresh lives to make it good : 
No lore of Greece or Rome, 
No science peddling with the names of things, 20 

Or reading stars to find inglorious fates. 

Can lift our life with wings 
Far from Death's idle gulf that for the many waits, 

And lengthen out our dates 
With that clear fame whose memory sings 25 

In manly hearts to come, and nerves them and dilates : 
Nor such thy teaching. Mother of us all ! 
Not such the trumpet-call 
Of thy diviner mood. 

That could thy sons entice 30 

From happy homes and toils, the fruitful nest 
Of those half-virtues which the world calls best, 
Into War's tumult rude ; 
But rather far that stern device 
The sponsors chose that round thy cradle stood 35 
In the dim, unventured wood, 
The Veritas that lurks beneath 
The letter's unprolific sheath. 



122 SEVENTH YEAR 

Life of whate'er makes life worth living, 
Seed-grain of high emprise, immortal food, 40 

One heavenly thing whereof earth hath the giving. 

Ill 

Many loved Truth, and lavished life's best oil 

Amid the dust of books to find her. 
Content at last, for guerdon of their toil. 

With the cast mantle she hath left behind her. 45 

Many in sad faith sought for her. 

Many with crossed hands sighed for her ; 

But these, our brothers, fought for her, 

At life's dear peril wrought for her. 

So loved her that they died for her, 50 

Tasting the raptured fleetness 

Of her divine completeness : 

Their higher instinct knew 
Those love her best who to themselves are true. 
And what they dare to dream of, dare to do ; 55 

They followed her and found her 

Where all may hope to find, 
Not in the ashes of the burnt-out mind. 
But beautiful, with danger's sweetness round her, 

Where faith made whole with deed 60 

Breathes its awakening breath 

Into the lifeless creed. 

They saw her plumed and mailed. 

With sweet, stern face unveiled, 
And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death. 65 

IV 

Our slender life runs rippling by, and glides 
Into the silent hollow of the past ; 
What is there that abides 



SEVENTH YEAR 123 

To make the next age better for the last ? 

Is earth too poor to give us 70 

Something to live for here that shall outlive us ? 
Some more substantial boon 
Than such as flows and ebbs with Fortune's fickle 
moon ? 
The little that we see 

From doubt is never free ; 75 

The little that we do 
Is but half-nobly true ; 
With our laborious hiving 
What men call treasure, and the gods call dross, 
Life seems a jest of Fate's contriving, 80 

Only secure in every one's conniving, 
A long account of nothings paid with loss. 
Where we poor puppets, jerked by unseen wires, 

After our little hour of strut and rave. 
With all our pasteboard passions and desires, 85 

Loves, hates, ambitions, and immortal fires. 
Are tossed pell-mell together in the grave. 
But stay ! no age was e'er degenerate. 
Unless men held it at too cheap a rate, 
For in our likeness still we shape our fate. 90 

Ah, there is something here 
Unfathomed by the cynic's sneer, 
Something that gives our feeble light 
A high immunity from Night, 

Something that leaps life's narrow bars 95 

To claim its birthright with the hosts of heaven ; 
A seed of sunshine that can leaven 
Our earthy dulness with the beams of stars. 

And glorify our clay 
With light from fountains elder than the Day ; 100 
A conscience more divine than we. 



124 SEVENTH YEAR 

A gladness fed with secret tears, 
A vexing, forward-reaching sense 
Of some more noble permanence ; 

A light across the sea, 105 

Which haunts the soul and will not let it be, 
Still beaconing from the heights of undegenerate years. 



Whither leads the path 
To ampler fates that leads ? 
Not down through flowery meads, 110 

To reap an aftermath 
Of youth's vainglorious weeds, 
But up the steep, amid the wrath 
And shock of deadly-hostile creeds, 
Where the world's best hope and stay 115 

By battle's flashes gropes a desperate way. 
And every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds. 
Peace hath her not ignoble wreath. 
Ere yet the sharp, decisive word 
Light the black lips of cannon, and the sword 120 

Dreams in its easeful sheath ; 
But some day the live coal behind the thought. 
Whether from Baal's stone obscene. 
Or from the shrine serene 

Of God's pure altar brought, 125 

Bursts up in flame ; the war of tongue and pen 
Learns with what deadly purpose it was fraught. 
And, helpless in the fiery passion caught. 
Shakes all the pillared state with shock of men : 
Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed 130 

Confronts us fiercely, foe beset, pursued. 
And cries reproachful : " Was it, then, my praise. 
And not myself was loved ? Prove now thy truth ; 



SEVENTH YEAR 125 

I claim of thee the promise of thy youth ; 
Give me thy life, or cower in empty phrase, 135 

The victim of thy genius, not its mate ! " 
Life may be given in many ways, 
And loyalty to Truth be sealed 
As bravely in the closet as the field, 

So bountiful is Fate ; 140 

But then to stand beside her. 

When craven churls deride her. 
To front a lie in arms and not to yield. 

This shows, methinks, God's plan 

And measure of a stalwart man, 145 

Limbed like the old heroic breeds. 

Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid 
earth. 

Not forced to frame excuses for his birth. 
Fed from within with all the strength he needs. 

VI 

Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, 150 

Whom late the Nation he had led, 

With ashes on her head, 
Wept with the passion of an angry grief : 
Forgive me, if from present things I turn 
To speak what in my heart will beat and burn, 155 
And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. 

Nature, they say, doth dote, 

And cannot make a man 

Save on some worn-out plan, 

Repeating us by rote : 160 

For him her Old- World moulds aside she threw. 

And, choosing sweet clay from the breast 

Of the unexhausted West, 
Witli stuff untainted shaped a hero new. 



126 SEVENTH YEAR 

Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 165 
How beautiful to see 

Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 

Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead ; 

One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 

Not lured by any cheat of birth, 170 

But by his clear-grained human worth. 

And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 

They knew that outward grace is dust ; 
They could not choose but trust 

In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, 175 

And supple-tempered will 

That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 
His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind. 
Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, 
A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind ; 180 
Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined. 
Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, 

Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 
Nothing of Europe here, 

Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still, 185 

Ere any names of Serf and Peer 
Could Nature's equal scheme deface 
And thwart her genial will ; 
Here was a type of the true elder race, 

And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to 
face. 190 

I praise him not ; it were too late ; 

And some innative weakness there must be 

In him who condescends to victory 

Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, 

Safe in himself as in a fate. 195 

So always firmly he : 
He knew to bide his time. 



SEVENTH YEAR 127 

And can his fame abide, 
Still patient in his simple faith sublime, 

Till the wise years decide. 200 

Great captains, with their guns and drums, 
Disturb our judgment for the hour, 
But at last silence comes ; 
These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, 
Our children shall behold his fame, 205 

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame. 
New birth of our new soil, the first American. 

VII 

Long as man's hope insatiate can discern 

Or only guess some more inspiring goal 210 

Outside of Self, enduring as the pole. 

Along whose course the flying axles burn 

Of spirits bravely-pitched, earth's manlier brood; 

Long as below we cannot find 
The meed that stills the inexorable mind; 215 

So long this faith to some ideal Good, 
Under whatever mortal names it masks. 
Freedom, Law, Country, this ethereal mood 

That thanks the Fates for their severer tasks, . 

Feeling its challenged pulses leap, 220 

While others skulk in subterfuges cheap, 

And, set in Danger's van, has all the boon it asks. 
Shall win man's praise and woman's love, 
Shall be a wisdom that we set above 

All other skills and gifts to culture dear, 225 

A virtue round whose forehead we inwreathe 
Laurels that with a living passion breathe 

When other crowns grow, while we twine them, sear. 
What brings us thronging these high rites to pay, 



128 SEVENTH YEAR 

And seal these hours the noblest of our year, 230 

Save that our brothers found this better way ? 

VIII 

We sit here in the Promised Land 
That flows with Freedom's honey and milk ; 
But 't was they won it, sword in hand, 
Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk. 235 

We welcome back our bravest and our best ; — 
Ah me ! not all ! some come not with the rest, 
Who went forth brave and bright as any here ! 
I strive to mix some gladness with my strain, 

But the sad strings complain, 240 

And will not please the ear : 
I sweep them for a paean, but they wane 

Again and yet again 
Into a dirge, and die away, in pain. 
In these brave ranks I only see the gaps, 245 

Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps. 
Dark to the triumph which they died to gain : 
Fitlier may others greet the living. 
For me the past is unforgiving ; 

I with uncovered head 250 

Salute the sacred dead. 
Who went, and who return not. — Say not so ! 
'T is not the grapes of Canaan that repay. 
But the high faith that failed not by the way ; 
Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave ; 255 
No ban of endless night exiles the brave ; 

And to the saner mind 
We rather seem the dead that stayed behind. 
Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow ! 
For never shall their aureoled presence lack : 260 

I see them muster in a gleaming row, 



SEVENTH YEAR 129 

With ever-youthful brows that nobler show ; 
We find in our dull road their shining track; 

In every nobler mood 
We feel the orient of their spirit glow, 265 

Part of our life's unalterable good, 
Of all our saintlier aspiration ; 

They come transfigured back, 
Secure from change in their high-hearted ways, 
Beautiful evermore, and with the rays 270 

Of morn on their white Shields of Expectation ! 

IX 

But is there hope to save 
Even this ethereal essence from the grave ? 
What ever 'scaped Oblivion's subtle wrong 
Save a few clarion names, or golden threads of song? 275 
Before my musing eye 
The mighty ones of old sweep by, 
Disvoiced now and insubstantial things. 
As noisy ones as we; poor ghosts of kings. 
Shadows of empire wholly gone to dust, 280 

And many races, nameless long ago. 
To darkness driven by that imperious gust 
Of ever-rushing Time that here doth blow : 
O visionary world, condition strange, 
Where naught abiding is but only Change, 285 

Where the deep-bolted stars themselves still shift and 
range ! 
Shall we to more continuance make pretence ? 
Renown builds tombs ; a life-estate is Wit ; 

And, bit by bit. 
The cunning years steal all from us but woe ; 290 

Leaves are we, whose decays no harvest sow. 
But, when we vanish hence. 



130 SEVENTH YEAR 

Shall they lie forceless in the dark below, 

Save to make green their little length of sods, 

Or deepen pansies for a year or two, 295 

Who now to us are shining-sweet as gods ? 

Was dying all they had the skill to do ? 

That were not fruitless : but the Soul resents 

Such short-lived service, as if blind events 

Ruled without her, or earth could so endure ; 300 

She claims a more divine investiture 

Of longer tenure than Fame's airy rents ; 

Whate'er she touches doth her nature share ; 

Her inspiration haunts the ennobled air, 

Gives eyes to mountains blind, 305 

Ears to the deaf earth, voices to the wind, 
And her clear trump sings succor everywhere 
By lonely bivouacs to the wakeful mind ; 
For soul inherits all that soul could dare ; 

Yea, Manhood hath a wider span 310 

And larger privilege of life than man. 
The single deed, the private sacrifice. 
So radiant now through proudly-hidden tears, 
Is covered up erelong from mortal ej^es 
With thoughtless drift of the deciduous years ; 315 
But that high privilege that makes all men peers, 
That leap of heart whereby a people rise 

Up to a noble anger's height. 
And, flamed on by the Fates, not shrink, but grow more 

bright. 
That swift validity in noble veins, 320 

Of choosing danger and disdaining shame. 

Of being set on flame 
By the pure fire that flies all contact base, 
But wraps its chosen with angelic might. 

These are imperishable gains. 



SEVENTH YEAR 131 

Sure as the sun, medicinal as light, 
These hold great futures in their lusty reins 
And certify to earth a new imperial race. 



Who now shall sneer? 

Who dare again to say we trace 330 

Our lines to a plebeian race ? 
Roundhead and Cavalier! 
Dumb are those names erewhile in battle loud ; 
Dream-footed as the shadow of a cloud, 

They flit across the ear : 335 

That is best blood that hath most iron in 't. 
To edge resolve with, pouring without stint 

For what makes manhood dear. 

Tell us not of Plantagenets, 
Hapsburgs, and Guelfs, whose thin bloods crawl 340 
Down from some victor in a border-brawl ! 

How poor their outworn coronets, 
Matched with one leaf of that plain civic wreath 
Our brave for honor's blazon shall bequeath, 

Through whose desert a rescued Nation sets 345 
Her heel on treason, and the trumpet hears 
Shout victory, tingling Europe's sullen ears 
With vain resentments and more vain regrets ! 

XI 

Not in anger, not in pride. 

Pure from passion's mixture rude 350 

Ever to base earth allied. 
But with far-heard gratitude, 
Still with heart and voice renewed. 
To heroes living and dear martyrs dead. 
The strain should close that consecrates our brave. 355 



132 SEVENTH YEAR 

Lift the heart and lift the head ! 

Lofty be its mood and grave, 

Not without a martial ring, 

Not without a prouder tread 

And a peal of exultation : 360 

Little right has he to sing 

Through whose heart in such an hour 

Beats no march of conscious power. 

Sweeps no tumult of elation ! 

'T is no Man we celebrate, 365 

By his country's victories great, 
A hero half, and half the whim of Fate, 

But the pith and marrow of a Nation 

Drawing force from all her men. 

Highest, humblest, weakest, all, 370 

For her time of need, and then 

Pulsing it again through them. 
Till the basest can no longer cower. 
Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall. 
Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem. 375 

Come back, then, noble pride, for 't is her dower ! 

How could poet ever tower, 

If his passions, hopes, and fears, 

If his triumphs and his tears. 

Kept not measure with his people ? 380 

Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves ! 
Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple ! 
Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves ! 

And from every mountain-peak 

Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, 385 

Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he, 
And so leap on in light from sea to sea. 
Till the glad news be sent 
Across a kindling continent, 



SEVENTH YEAR 133 

Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver : 
" Be proud ! for she is saved, and all have helped to 
save her! 391 

She that lifts up the manhood of the poor, 
She of the open soul and open door, 
With room about her hearth for all mankind ! 
The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more ; 395 

From her bold front the helm she doth unbind. 
Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin. 
And bids her navies, that so lately hurled 
Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in. 
Swimming like birds of calm along the unharm- 
ful shore, 400 

No challenge sends she to the elder world, 
That looked askance and hated ; a light scorn 
Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees 
She calls her children back, and waits the morn 
Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas." 405 

XII 

Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release ! 
Thy God, in these distempered days. 
Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways. 
And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace ! 

Bow down in prayer and praise ! 410 

No poorest in thy borders but may now 
Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. 
O Beautiful ! my Country ! ours once more ! 
Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair 
O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, 415 

And letting thy set lips. 

Freed from wrath's pale eclipse. 
The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, 
What words divine of lover or of poet 



134 SEVENTH YEAR 

Could tell our love and make thee know it, 420 
Among the Nations bright beyond compare ? 

What were our lives without thee ? 

What all our lives to save thee ? 

We reek not what we gave thee ; 

We will not dare to doubt thee, 425 

But ask whatever else, and we will dare ! 

THOSE EVENING BELLS 

Thomas Moore 

Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime ! 

Those joyous hours are passed away ; 5 

And many a heart, that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 't will be when I am gone ; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 10 

While other bards shall walk these dells, 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells! 

THE OAK 

James Russell Lowell 

What gnarled stretch, what depth of shade, is his ! 

There needs no crown to mark the forest's king; 
How in his leaves outshines full summer's bliss ! 

Sun, storm, rain, dew, to him their tribute bring. 
Which he with such benignant royalty 5 

Accepts, as overpayeth what is lent ; 



SEVENTH YEAR 135 

All nature seems his vassal proud to be, 
And cunning only for his ornament. 

How towers he, too, amid the billowed snows. 

An unquelled exile from the summer's throne, 10 
Whose plain, uncinctured front more kingly shows, 

Now that the obscuring courtier leaves are flown. 
His boughs make music of the winter air, 

Jewelled with sleet, like some cathedral front 
Where clinging snow-flakes with quaint art repair 15 

The dints and furrows of time's envious brunt. 

How doth his patient strength the rude March wind 

Persuade to seem glad breaths of summer breeze. 
And win the soil that fain would be unkind. 

To swell his revenues with proud increase ! '20 

He is the gem ; and all the landscape wide 

(So doth his grandeur isolate the sense) 
Seems but the setting, worthless all beside, 

An empty socket, were he fallen thence. 

So, from oft converse with life's wintry gales, 25 

Should man learn how to clasp with tougher roots 
The inspiring earth ; how otherwise avails 

The leaf -creating sap that sunward shoots ? 
So every year that falls with noiseless flake 

Should fill old scars up on the stormward side, 30 
And make hoar age revered for age's sake. 

Not for traditions of youth's leafy pride. 

So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate. 
True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth. 

So between earth and heaven stand simply great, 35 
That these shall seem but their attendants both ; 



136 SEVENTH YEAR 

For nature's forces with obedient zeal 

Wait on the rooted faith and oaken will ; 

As quickly the pretender's cheat they feel, 

And turn mad Pucks to flout and mock him still. 

Lord ! all Thy works are lessons ; each contains 41 

Some emblem of man's all-containing soul ; 
Shall he make fruitless all Thy glorious pains, 

Delving within Thy grace an eyeless mole ? 
Make me the least of thy Dodona-grove, 45 

Cause me some message of thy truth to bring, 
Speak but a word through me, nor let thy love 

Among my boughs disdain to perch and sing. 



TO THE DANDELION 

James Russell Lowell 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold, 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 5 

An Eldorado in the grass have found. 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 10 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 

40. See Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night\s Dream. 
45. A grove of oaks at Dodona, in ancient Greece, was the 
seat of a famous oracle. 



SEVENTH YEAR 137 

'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 15 

Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 20 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: 

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 25 

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass. 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze. 

Where, as the breezes pass, 30 

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, 
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 

That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 35 

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with 
thee ; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 40 

And I, secure in childish piety. 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he could bring 



138 SEVENTH YEAR 

Fresh every day to my untainted ears 

When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 46 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 50 

Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show. 
Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's un doubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 



TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON 

James Russell Lowell 

" Some time afterward, it was reported to me by the city officers 
that they had ferreted out the paper and its editor ; that his office was 
an obscure hole, his only visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his sup- 
porters a few very insignificant persons of all colors.' ' — Letter ofH. G, 
Otis. 

In a small chamber, friendless and unseen, 

Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young man ; 

The place was dark, unf urnitured, and mean ; 
Yet there the freedom of a race beg^. 

Help came but slowly ; surely no man yet 6 

Put lever to the heavy world with less : 

What need of help? He knew how types were set, 
He had a dauntless spirit, and a press. 

Such earnest natures are the fiery pith, 

The compact nucleus, round which systems grow ; 10 
Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith. 

And whirls impregnate with the central glow. 



SEVENTH YEAR 139 

O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born 
In the rude stable, in the manger nurst I 

What humble hands unbar those gates of morn 15 
Through which the splendors of the New Day burst ! 

What ! shall one monk, scarce known beyond his cell, 
Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and scorn her 
frown ? 

Brave Luther answered Yes ; that thunder's swell 19 
Rocked Europe, and discharmed the triple crown. 

Whatever can be known of earth we know, 

Sneered Europe's wise men, in their snail-shells 
curled ; 

No ! said one man in Genoa, and that No 

Out of the darkness summoned this New World. 

Who is it will not dare himself to trust? 25 

Who is it hath not strength to stand alone ? 

Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward MUST ? 

He and his works, like sand, from earth are blown. 

Men of a thousand shifts and wiles, look here ! 

See one straightforward conscience put in pawn 30 
To win a world ; see the obedient sphere 

By bravery's simple gravitation drawn ! 

Shall we not heed the lesson taught of old, 
And by the Present's lips repeated still. 

In our own single manhood to be bold, 35 

Fortressed in conscience and impregnable will? 

We stride the river daily at its spring. 

Nor, in our childish thoughtlessness, foresee, 



140 SEVENTH YEAR 

What myriad vassal streams shall tribute bring, 
How like an equal it shall greet the sea. 4) 

O small beginnings, ye are great and strong, 
Based on a faithful heart and weariless brain ! 

Ye build the future fair, ye conquer wrong, 
Ye earn the crow^n, and wear it not in vain. 



EIGHTH YEAR 

RECESSIONAL 1 

A VICTORIAN ODE 

RuDYARD Kipling 

God of our fathers, known of old — 
Lord of our far-flung battle line — 

Beneath whose awful hand we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine — 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 5 

Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

The tumult and the shouting dies — 
The Captains and the Kings depart — 

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice. 

An humble and a contrite heart. 10 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

Far-called our navies melt away — 

On dune and headland sinks the fire — 

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday ' 15 

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! 

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — 20 

^ From T'he Collected Verse of Rudyard Kipling, published by 
Doubleday, Page & Co. 



142 EIGHTH YEAR 

Such boastings as the Gentiles use, 

Or lesser breeds without the Law — 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 35 

In reeking tube and iron shard — 

All valiant dust that builds on dust, 
And guarding calls not Thee to guard. 

For frantic boast and foolish word, 

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord ! 30 

Amen. 



ABRAHAM DAVENPORT 

John Greenleaf Whittibr 

The famou* Dark Day of New England, May 19, 1780, was a physi- 
cal puzzle for many years to our ancestors, but its occurrence brought 
something- more than philosophical speculation into the minds of those 
who passed through it. The incident of Colonel Abraham Davenport's 
sturdy protest is a matter of history. 

In the old days (a custom laid aside 

With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent 

Their wisest men to make the public laws. 

And so, from a brown homestead, where the Sound 

Drinks the small tribute of the Mianas, 5 

Waved over by the woods of Rippowams, 

And hallowed by pure lives and tranquil deaths, 

Stamford sent up to the councils of the State 

Wisdom and grace in Abraham Davenport. 

'T was on a Ma,y-day of the far old year 10 

Seventeen hundred eighty, that there fell 
Over the bloom and sweet life of the Spring, 
Over the fresh earth and the heaven of noon, 



EIGHTH YEAR 143 

A horror of great darkness, like the night 
In day of which the Norland sagas tell, — 15 

The Twilight of the Gods. The low-hung sky- 
Was black with ominous cl®uds, save where its rim 
Was fringed with a dull glow, like that which climbs 
The crater's sides from the red hell below, 
Birds ceased to sing, and all the barn-yard fowls 20 
Roosted; the cattle at the pasture bars 
Lowed, and looked homeward ; bats on leathern 

wings 
Flitted abroad ; the sounds of labor died ; 
Men prayed, and women wept ; all ears grew sharp 
To hear the doom-blast of the trumpet shatter 25 
The black sky, that the dreadful face of Christ 
Might look from the rent clouds, not as he looked 
A loving guest at Bethany, but stern 
As Justice and inexorable Law. 

Meanwhile in the old State House, dim as 
ghosts, 30 

Sat the lawgivers of Connecticut, 
Trembling beneath their legislative robes. 
" It is the Lord's Great Day ! Let us adjourn," 
Some said ; and then, as if with one accord. 
All eyes were turned to Abraham Davenport. 35 
He rose, slow cleaving with his steady voice 
The intolerable hush. " This well may be 
The Day of Judgment which the world awaits ; 
But be it so or not, I only know 
My present duty, and my Lord's command 40 

To occupy till He come. So at the post 
Where He hath set me in His Providence, 
I choose, for one, to meet Him face to face, — 
No faithless servant frightened from my task, 



144 EIGHTH YEAR 

But ready when the Lord of the harvest calls ; 45 
And therefore, with all reverence, I would say, 
Let God do His work, we will see to ours, 
Bring in the candles." And they brought them in. 

Then by the flaring lights the Speaker read. 
Albeit with husky voice and shaking hands, 50 

An act to amend an act to regulate 
The shad and alewive fisheries. Whereupon 
Wisely and well spake Abraham Davenport, 
Straight to the question, with no figures of speech 
Save the ten Arab signs, yet not without 55 

The shrewd dry humor natural to the man : 
His awestruck colleagues listening all the while, 
Between the pauses of his argument, 
To hear the thunder of the wrath of God 
Break from the hollow trumpet of the cloud. 60 

And there he stands in memory to this day, 
Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seen 
Against the background of unnatural dark, 
A witness to the ages as they pass, 
That simple duty hath no place for fear. 65 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 

Joseph Rodman Drake 

When Freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure robe of night. 
And set the stars of glory there. 

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 

The milky baldric of the skies. 

And striped its pure celestial white 



EIGHTH YEAR 146 

With streaklngs of the morning light ; 

Then from his mansion in the sun 

She called her eagle bearer down, 10 

And gave into his mighty hand 

The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 15 

And see the lightning lances driven. 

When strive the warriors of the storm. 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven. 
Child of the sun I to thee 't is given 

To guard the banner of the free, 20 

To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war. 

The harbingers of victory ! 25 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 

The sign of hope and triumph high. 

When speaks the signal trumpet tone. 

And the long line comes gleaming on. 

Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 30 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 

Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn. 

And, as his springing steps advance. 

Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 35 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud. 

And gory sabres rise and fall 

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall. 



146 EIGHTH YEAR 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 40 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 45 

When death, careering on the gale, 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. 

And frighted waves rush wildly back, 

Before the broadside's reeling rack. 

Each dying wanderer of the sea 50 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 

And smile to see thy splendors fly 

In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given ; 55 

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes* the foe but falls before us. 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 60 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? 

FOR AN AUTUMN FESTIVAL 
John Gkeenleaf Whittier 

The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine 
Of fruitful Ceres charm no more ; 

The woven wreaths of oak and pine 
Are dust along the Isthmian shore. 

But beauty hath its homage still, 5 

And nature holds us still in debt ; 



EIGHTH YEAR 147 

And woman's grace and household skill, 
And manhood's toil are honored yet. 

And we, to-day, amidst our flowers 

And fruits, have come to own again 10 

The blessings of the summer hours, 

The early and the latter rain ; 

To see our Father's hand once more 

Reverse for us the plenteous horn 
Of autumn, filled and running o'er 15 

With fruit, and flower, and golden corn I 

Once more the liberal year laughs out 
O'er richer stores than gems or gold ; 

Once more with harvest-song and shout 

Is Nature's bloodless triumph told. 20 

Our common mother rests and sings. 

Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves ; 

Her lap is full of goodly things, 

Her brow is bright with autumn leaves. 

Oh, favors every year made new ! 25 

Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! 

The bounty overruns our due. 

The fulness shames our discontent. 

We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on ; 

We murmur, but the corn -ears fill, 30 

We choose the shadow, but the sun 

That casts it shines behind us still. 

God gives us with our rugged soil 

The power to make it Eden-fair, 
And richer fruits to crown our toil 35 

Than summer-wedded islands bear. 



148 EIGHTH YEAR 

Who murmurs at his lot to-day? 

Who scorns his native fruit and bloom ? 
Or sighs for dainties far away, 

Beside the bounteous board of home ? 40 

Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm 
Can change a rocky soil to gold, — 

That brave and generous lives can warm 
A clime with northern ices cold. 

And let these altars, wreathed with flowers 45 
And piled with fruits, awake again 

Thanksgivings for the golden hours, 
The early and the latter rain ! 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 

** We need not trouble ourselves abont the distinction between this 
[the Pearly Nautilus] and the Paper Nautilus, the Arg-onauta of the 
ancients. The name applied to both shows that each has long- been 
compared to a ship, as you may see more fully in Webster's Dictionary 
or the Encyclopaedia, to which he refers. If you will look into Roget's 
3ridgewater Treatise, you will find a figure of one of these shells, and 
a section of it. The last will show you the series of enlarging com- 
partments successively dwelt in by the animal that inhabits the shell, 
which is built in a widening spiral. . . . 

**I have now and then found a naturalist who still worried over the 
distinction between the Pearly Nautilus and the Paper Nautilus, or 
Argonauta. As the stories about both are mere fables, attaching to 
the Physalia, or Portuguese man-of-war, as well as to these two mol- 
lusks, it seems over-nice to quarrel with the poetical handling of a 
fiction sufficiently justified by the name commonly applied to the ship 
of pearl as well as the ship of paper." — The Autocrat of the Break' 
fast-Table. 

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 
Sails the unshadowed main, — 
The venturous bark that flings 



EIGHTH YEAR 149 

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 

In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, 5 

And coral reefs lie bare, 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming 
hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ; 

And every chambered cell, 10 

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 15 

That spread his lustrous coil ; 

Still, as the spiral grew. 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 20 

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no 
more. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea, 

Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25 

Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that 
sings : — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul. 

As the swift seasons roll ! 30 



150 EIGHTH YEAR 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! 35 

THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, 

And the winter winds are wearily sighing; 

Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow. 

And tread softly and speak low. 

For the old year lies a-dying. 5 

Old year, you must not die; \ 

You came to us so readily. 

You lived with us so steadily, 

Old year, you shall not die. 

He lieth still, he doth not move ; 10 

He will not see the dawn of day. 

He hath no other life above. 

He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, 

And the New-year will take 'em away. 

Old year, you must not go ; 15 

So long as you have been with us. 
Such joy as you have seen with us. 
Old year, you shall not go. 

He f roth'd his bumpers to the brim; 

A jollier year we shall not see. 20 

But tho' his eyes are waxing dim. 

And tho' his foes speak ill of him, 

He was a friend to me. 



EIGHTH YEAR 151 

Old year, you shall not die ; 

We did so laugh and cry with you, 25 

I 've half a mind to die with you, 

Old year, if you must die. 

He was full of joke and jest. 

But all his merry quips are o'er. 

To see him die, across the waste 30 

His son and heir doth ride post-haste. 

But he '11 be dead before. 

Every one for his own. 

The night is starry and cold, my friend, 

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, 35 

Comes up to take his own. 

How hard he breathes ! over the snow 

I heard just now the crowing cock. 

The shadows flicker to and fro ; 

The cricket chirps ; the light burns low ; 40 

'T is nearly twelve o'clock. 

Shake hands, before you die. 

Old year, we '11 dearly rue for you. 

What is it we can do for you? 

Speak out before you die. 45 

His face is growing sharp and thin. 

Alack ! our friend is gone. 

Close up his eyes; tie up his chin ; 

Step from the corpse, and let him in 

That standeth there alone, 50 

And waiteth at the door. 

There 's a new foot on the floor, my friend. 

And a new face at the door, my friend, 

A new face at the door. 



152 EIGHTH YEAR 

FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Flower in the crannied wall, 

I pluck you out of the crannies, 

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 

Little flower — but if I could understand 

What you are, root and all, and all in all, 5 

I should know what God and man is. 

THE NEW YEAR 

ADDRESSED TO THE PATRONS OF THE PENNSYLVANIA 

FREEMAN 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

The wave is breaking on the shore, 
The echo fading from the chime; 

Again the shadow moveth o'er 
The dial-plate of time ! 

O seer-seen Angel ! waiting now, 5 

With weary feet on sea and shore, 

Impatient for the last dread vow 
That time shall be no more ! 

Once more across thy sleepless eye 

The semblance of a smile has passed: 10 

The year departing leaves more nigh 
Time's fearfullest and last. 

Oh, in that dying year hath been 
The sum of all since time began ; 

The birth and death, the joy and pain, 15 

Of Nature and of Man. 



EIGHTH YEAR . 153 

Spring*, with her change of sun and shower, 
And streams released from Winter's chain, 

And bursting bud, and opening flower, 

And greenly growing grain ; 20 

And Summer's shade, and sunshine warm. 
And rainbows o'er her hill-tops bowed, 

And voices in her rising storm ; 
God speaking from his cloud ! 

And Autumn's fruits and clustering sheaves, 25 
And soft, warm days of golden light. 

The glory of her forest leaves, 
And harvest-moon at night ; 

And Winter with her leafless grove. 

And prisoned stream, and drifting snow, 30 

The brilliance of her heaven above 

And of her earth below : 

And man, in whom an angel's mind 
With earth's low instincts finds abode, 

The highest of the links which bind 35 

Brute nature to her God ; 

His infant eye hath seen the light. 

His childhood's merriest laughter rung, 

And active sports to manlier might 

The nerves of boyhood strung ! 40 

And quiet love, and passion's fires, 

Have soothed or burned in manhood's breast. 
And lofty aims and low desires 

By turns disturbed his rest. 



154 EIGHTH YEA.R 

The wailing of the newly-born 45 

Has mingled with the funeral knell ; 

And o'er the dying's ear has gone 
The merry marriage-bell. 

And Wealth has filled his halls with mirth, 
While Want, in many a humble shed, 50 

Toiled, shivering by her cheerless hearth, 
The live-long night for bread. 

And worse than all, the human slave, 
The sport of lust, and pride, and scorn ! 

Plucked off the crown his Maker gave, 55 

His regal manhood gone ! 

Oh, still, my country ! o'er thy plains. 
Blackened with slavery's blight and b^n, 

That human chattel drags his chains. 

An uncreated man ! 60 

And still, where'er to sun and breeze. 

My country, is thy flag unrolled. 
With scorn, the gazing stranger sees 

A stain on every fold. 

Oh, tear the gorgeous emblem down ! 65 

It gathers scorn from every eye. 
And despots smile and good men frown 

Whene'er it passes by. 

Shame! shame! its starry splendors glow 

Above the slaver's loathsome jail ; 70 

Its folds are ruffling even now 
His crimson flag of sale. 



EIGHTH YEAR 155 

Still round our country's proudest hall 
The trade in human flesh is driven. 

And at each careless hammer-fall 75 

A human heart is riven. 

And this, too, sanctioned by the men 
Vested with power to shield the right, 

And throw each vile and robber den 

Wide open to the light. 80 

Yet, shame upon them ! there they sit, 
Men of the North, subdued and still ; 

Meek, pliant poltroons, only fit 
To work a master's will. 

Sold, bargained off for Southern votes, 85 

A passive herd of Northern mules. 

Just braying through their purchased throats 
Whate'er their owner rules. 

And he, the basest of the base. 

The vilest of the vile, whose name, 90 

Embalmed in infinite disgrace. 

Is deathless in its shame ! 

A tool, to bolt the people's door 

Against the people clamoring there, 

An ass, to trample on their floor 95 

A people's right of prayer ! 

Nailed to his self-made gibbet fast. 

Self -pilloried to the public view, 
A mark for every passing blast 

Of scorn to whistle through ; 100 



156 EIGHTH YEAR 

There let him hang, and hear the boast 
Of Southrons o'er their pliant tool, — 

A new Stylites on his post, 
'' Sacred to ridicule ! " 

Look we at home ! our noble hall, 105 

To Freedom's holy purpose given, 

Now rears its black and ruined wall 
Beneath the wintry heaven, 

Telling the story of its doom, 

The fiendish mob, the prostrate law, 110 

The fiery jet through midnight's gloom, 

Our gazing thousands saw. 

Look to our State ! the poor man's right 
Torn from him : and the sons of those 

Whose blood in Freedom's sternest fight 115 

Sprinkled the Jersey's snows, 

Outlawed within the land of Penn, 

That Slavery's guilty fears might cease. 

And those whom God created men 

Toil on as brutes in peace. 120 

Yet o'er the blackness of the storm 

A bow of promise bends on high. 
And gleams of sunshine, soft and warm, 

Break through our clouded sky. 

East, West, and North, the shout is heard, 125 

Of freemen rising for the right : 
Each valley hath its rallying word. 

Each hill its signal light. 



EIGHTH YEAR 157 

O'er Massachusetts' rocks of gray 

The strengthening light of freedom shines, 130 
Rhode Island's Narragansett Bay, 

And Vermont's snow-hung pines ! 

From Hudson's frowning palisades 

To Alleghany's laurelled crest, 
O'er lakes and prairies, streams and glades, 135 

It shines upon the West. 

Speed on the light to those who dwell 

In Slavery's land of woe and sin. 
And through the blackness of that Hell 

Let Heaven's own light break in. 140 

So shall the Southern conscience quake 
Before that light poured full and strong, 

So shall the Southern heart awake 
To all the bondman's wrong. 

And from that rich and sunny land 145 

The song of grateful millions rise, 
Like that of Israel's ransomed band 

Beneath Arabia's skies : 

And all who now are bound beneath. 

Our banner's shade, our eagle's wing, 150 

From Slavery's night of moral death 
To light and life shall spring. 

Broken the bondman's chain, and gone 
The master's guilt, and hate, and fear, 

And unto both alike shall dawn 155 

A New and Happy Year. 



158 EIGHTH YEAR 

THE FROST SPIRIT 
John Greenleaf Whittier 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes! You 

may trace his footsteps now 
On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the 

brown hill's withered brow. 
He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where 

their pleasant green came forth, 
And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have 

shaken them down to earth. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes! from 

the frozen Labrador, 5 

From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the 

white bear wanders o'er. 
Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the 

luckless forms below 
In the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble 

statues grow ! 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! on 
the rushing Northern blast. 

And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fear- 
ful breath went past. 10 

With an un scorched wing he has hurried on, where the 
fires of Hecla glow 

On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice 
below. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes! and 

the quiet lake shall feel 
The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the 

skater's heel ; 



EIGHTH YEAR 159 

And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or 
sang to the leaning grass, 15 

Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mourn- 
ful silence pass. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes! Let 

us meet him as we may, 
And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power 

away; 
And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight 

dances high. 
And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his 

sounding wing goes by ! 20 



ICHABOD 
John Greenleaf Whittier 

So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 

Which once he wore ! 
The glory #from his gray hairs gone 

Forever more I 

Revile him not, — the Tempter hath 5 

A snare for all ; 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 

Befit his fall! 

Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, 

When he who might 10 

Have lighted up and led his age. 
Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark 
A bright soul driven, 



160 EIGHTH YEAR 

Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 15 

From hope and heaven! 

Let not the land once proud of him 

Insult him now, 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 

Dishonored brow. 20 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead, 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, naught 25 

Save power remains ; 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in chains. 

All else IS gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 30 

When faith is lost, when honor dies. 
The man is dead ! 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze, 35 

And hide the shame ! 



SIR GALAHAD 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

My good blade carves the casques of men. 
My tough lance thrusteth sure, 

My strength is as the strength of ten. 
Because my heart is pure. 



EIGHTH YEAR 161 

The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, 5 

The hard brands shiver on the steel, 

The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly, 
The horse and rider reel ; 

They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 

And when the tide of combat stands, 10 

Perfume and flowers fall in showers, 
^ That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 

How sweet are looks that ladies bend 

On whom their favors fall ! 
For them I battle till the end, 15 

To save from shame and thrall ; 
But all my heart is drawn above. 

My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine ; 
I never felt the kiss of love, 

Nor maiden's hand in mine. 20 

More bounteous aspects on me beam. 

Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 
So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer 

A virgin heart in work and will. 

When down the stormy crescent goes, 25 

A light before me swims, 
Between dark stems the forest glows, 

I hear a noise of hymns. 
Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 

I hear a voice, but none are there ; 30 

The stalls are void, the doors are wide. 

The tapers burning fair. 
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, 

The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 35 

And solemn chaunts resound between. 



162 EIGHTH YEAR 

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 

I find a magic bark. 
I leap on board ; no helmsman steers ; 

I float till all is dark. 40 

A gentle sound, an awful light ! 

Three angels bear the Holy Grail ; 
With folded feet, in stoles of white, 

On sleeping wings they sail. 
Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 45 

My spirit beats her mortal bars, 
As down dark tides the glory slides, 

And starlike mingles with the stars. 

When on my goodly charger borne 

Thro' dreaming towns I go, 50 

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, 

The streets are dumb with snow. 
The tempest crackles on the leads, 

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail ; 
But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 55 

And gilds the driving hail. 
I leave the plain, I climb the height ; 

No branchy thicket shelter yields ; 
But blessed forms in whistling storms 

Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 60 

A maiden knight — to me is given 

Such hope, I know not fear ; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
I muse on joy that will not cease, 65 

Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
Pure lilies of eternal peace, 

Whose odors haunt my dreams ; 



EIGHTH YEAR 163 

And, stricken by an angel's hand, 

This mortal armor that I wear, 70 

This weight and size, this heart and eyes. 

Are touch'd, and turn'd to finest air. 

The clouds are broken in the sky. 

And thro' the mountain-walls 
A rolling organ-harmony 75 

Swells up and shakes and falls. 
Then move the trees, the copses nod, 

Wings flutter, voices hover clear ; 
" O just and faithful knight of God ! 

Ride on ! the prize is near." 80 

So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; 

By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
AU-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, 

Until I find the Holy Grail. 

CROSSING THE BAR 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me ! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 

When I put out to sea. 

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 6 

Too full for sound and foam. 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 

Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell. 

And after that the dark ! 10 

And may there be no sadness of farewell, 

When I embark ; 



164 EIGHTH YEAR 

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 

The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 15 

When I have crost the bar. 



THE LITTLE LAND^ 

Robert Louis Stevenson 

When at home alone I sit 

And am very tired of it, 

I have just to shut my eyes 

To go sailing through the skies — 

To go sailing far away 6 

To the pleasant Land of Play ; 

To the fairy land afar 

Where the Little People are ; 

Where the-clover-tops are trees, 

And the rain-pools are the seas, 10 

And the leaves like little ships 

Sail about on tiny trips ; 

And above the daisy tree 

Through the grasses, 
High o'erhead the Bumble Bee 15 

Hums and passes. 

In that forest to and fro 

I can wander, I can go ; 

See the spider and the fly. 

And the ants go marching by 20 

Carrying parcels with their feet 

Down the green and grassy street. 

^ From Poems and Ballads. Copyright, 1895, 1896, by Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 



EIGHTH YEAR 165 

I can in the sorrel sit 

Where the ladybird alit. 

I can climb the jointed grass ; 25 

And on high 
See the greater swallows pass 

In the sky, 
And the round sun rolling by 
Heeding no such things as I. 30 

Through that forest I can pass 

Till, as in a looking-glass. 

Humming fly and daisy tree 

And my tiny self I see. 

Painted very clear and neat 35 

On the rain-pool at my feet. 

Should a leaflet come to land 

Drifting near to where I stand, 

Straight I '11 board that tiny boat 

Round the rain-pool sea to float. 40 

Little thoughtful creatures sit 

On the grassy coasts of it; 

Little things with lovely eyes 

See me sailing with surprise. 

Some are clad in armor green — 45 

(These have sure to battle been !) — 

Some are pied with ev'ry hue. 

Black and crimson, gold and blue ; 

Some have wings and swift are gone ; — 

But they all look kindly on. 50 

When my eyes I once again 
Open, and see all things plain : 
High bare walls, great bare floor ; 



166 EIGHTH YEAR 

Great big knobs on drawer and door ; 

Great big people perched on chairs, 55 

Stitching tucks and mending tears, 

Each a hill that I could climb, 

And talking nonsense all the time — 

O dear me, 

That I could be 60 

A sailor on the rain-pool sea, 
A climber in the clover tree. 
And just come back, a sleepy-head, 
Late at night to go to bed. 

THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 

William Cullen Bryant 

I HEAR, from many a little throat, 

A warble interrupted long ; 
I hear the robin's flute-like note. 

The bluebird's slenderer song. 

Brown meadows and the russet hill, 5 

Not yet the haunt of grazing herds. 

And thickets by the glimmering rill, 
Are all alive with birds. 

O choir of spring, why come so soon ? 

On leafless grove and herbless lawn 10 

Warm lie the yellow beams of moon ; 

Yet winter is not gone. 

For frost shall sheet the pools again ; 

Again the blustering East shall blow — 
Whirl a white tempest through the glen, 15 

And load the pines with snow. 



EIGHTH YEAR 167 

Yet, haply, from the region where, 

Waked by an earlier spring than here, 

The blossomed wild-plum scents the air, 

Ye come in haste and fear. 20 

For there is heard the bugle-blast, 
The booming gun, the jarring drum. 

And on their chargers, spurring fast. 
Armed warriors go and come. 

There mighty hosts have pitched the camp 25 
In valleys that were yours till then. 

And Earth has shuddered to the tramp 
Of half a million men ! 

In groves where once ye used to sing. 

In orchards where ye had your birth, 30 

A thousand glittering axes swing 
To smite the trees to earth. 

Ye love the fields by ploughmen trod ; 

But there, when sprouts the beechen spray, 
The soldier only breaks the sod 35 

To hide the slain away. 

Stay, then, beneath our ruder sky; 

Heed not the storm-clouds rising black, 
Nor yelling winds that with them fly ; 

Nor let them fright you back, — 40 

Back to the stifling battle-cloud. 
To burning towns that blot the day. 

And trains of mounting dust that shroud 
The armies on their way. 



168 EIGHTH YEAR 

Stay, for a tint of green shall creep 45 

Soon o'er the orchard's grassy floor, 

And from its bed the crocus peep 
Beside the housewife's door. 

Here build, and dread no harsher sound, 

To scare you from the sheltering tree, 60 

Than winds that stir the branches round, 
And murmur of the bee. 

And we will pray that, ere again 

The flowers of autumn bloom and die, 

Our generals and their strong-armed men 55 

May lay their weapons by. 

Then may ye warble, unafraid, 

Where hands, that wear the fetter now, 

Free as your wings shall ply the spade. 

And guide the peaceful plough. 6C 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT 

Robert Burks 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ! 
The coward slave, we pass him by. 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 

For a' that, and a' that, 6 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp. 
The man's the gowd for a' that ! 

What though on hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; 10 



EIGHTH YEAR 169 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man 's a' man for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that ! 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 15 
Is king o' men for a' that ! 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 

He 's but a coof for a' that. 20 

For a' that, and a' that. 

His ribbon, star, and a' that ; 
The man of independent mind. 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 25 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man 's aboon his might, 
Guid faith, he maunna fa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that ; 30 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may -^ 

As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 35 

May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It 's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that ! 40 



170 EIGHTH YEAR 

SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE ' 
Sidney Lanier 

Out of the hills of Habersham, 

Down the valleys of Hall, 
I hurry amain to reach the plain. 
Run the rapid and leap the fall, 
Split at the rock and together again, 6 

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide. 
And flee from folly on every side 
With a lover's pain to attain the plain 

Far from the hills of Habersham, 

Far from the valleys of Hall. 10 

All down the hills of Habersham, 

All through the valleys of Hall, 
The rushes cried Abide^ ahide^ 
The wilful waterweeds held me thrall. 
The laving laurel turned my tide, 15 

The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay^ 
The dewberry dipped for to work delay, 
And the little reeds sighed Ahide^ abide^ 

Here in the hills of Habersham^ 

Here in the valleys of Hall. 20 

High o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Veiling the valleys of Hall, 
The hickory told me manifold 
Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall 
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, 25 

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, 

1 From Poems of Sidney Lanier, Copyright, 1884, 1891, by 
Mary D. Lanier. Published by Charles Scribiier's Sons. 



EIGHTH YEAR 171 

Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, 
Said, Pass not^ so cold^ these manifold 
Deep shades of the hills of Habersham^ 
These glades in the valleys of HalL 30 

And oft in the hills of Habersham, 

And oft in the valleys of Hall, 
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook- 
stone 
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, 
And many a luminous jewel lone 35 

— Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, 
Ruby, garnet, and amethyst — 
Made lures with the lights of streaming stone 

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 

In the beds of the valleys of Hall. 40 

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, 

And oh, not the valleys of Hall 
Avail : I am fain for to water the plain. 
Downward the voices of Duty call — 
Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main, 45 
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn. 
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn. 
And the lordly main from beyond the plain 

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Calls through the valleys of Hall. 50 



MY NATIVE LAND 

(From the Lay of the Last Minstrel) 

Sir Walter Scott 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 



172 EIGHTH YEAR 

This is my own, my native land ? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 5 

From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, — 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 10 

Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 15 

Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 



INDEX OF AUTHORS 

Andersen, Hans Christian 

The Ugly Duckling, 10. 
Brooks, Phillips 

Christmas Everywhere, 58. 
Bryant, William Cullen 

Abraham Lincoln, 60 ; March, 9 ; The Return of the 

Birds, 166 ; To a Waterfowl, 99 ; The Yellow Violet, 104. 
Burns, Robert 

For A' That, and A' That, 168. 
Burton, Richard 

Christmastide, 84. 
Byron, Lord 

Washington (From Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte), 91. 
Cary, Phcebe 

Little Gottlieb, 54 ; Our Heroes, 36 ; The Leak in the 

Dike, 41. 
Drake, Joseph Rodman 

The American Flag, 144. 
Field, Eugene 

Dutch Lullaby, 26. 
Finch, Francis Miles 

The Blue and the Gray, 68. 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel 

Benjamin Franklin as a Boy, 22. 
Hemans, Felicia D. 

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England, 

53 ; The Voice of Spring, 38. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell 

The Chambered Nautilus, 148 ; Old Ironsides, 35. 



174 INDEX OF AUTHORS 

Hood, Thomas 

I Remember, I Remember, 37. 

Ingelow, Jean 

Seven Times One, 46. 

Jackson, Helen Hunt 

October's Bright Blue Weather, 2 ; September, 1. 

Key, Frances Scott 

The Star-Spangled Banner, 61. 

Kipling, Rudyard 
The Recessional, 141. 

Lanier, Sidney 

Song of the Chattahoochee, 170. 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 

The Children's Hour, 7 ; The Legend of the Crossbill, 
96 ; Paul Revere's Ride, 63 ; Story of Mondamin (Hia- 
watha), 77 ; The Village Blacksmith, 28 ; The Wreck of 
the Hesperus, 92. 

Lowell, James Russell 

The First Snow-Fall, 5 ; Ode recited at the Harvard Com- 
memoration, 120; The Oak, 134; The Present Crisis, 
111 ; The Shepherd of King Admetus, 109 ; To the Dan- 
delion, 136 ; To William Lloyd Garrison, 138 ; Wendell 
Phillips, 111 ; Yussouf, 106. 

Moore, Thomas 

Those Evening Bells, 134. 

O'Hara, Theodore 

The Bivouac of the Dead, 101. 

Read, Thomas Buchanan 
Sheridan's Ride, 51. 

RusKiN, John 

Gluck's Visitor (First Visit), 71. 

Scott, Sir Walter 

My Native Land (From The Lay of the Last Minstrel), 
171. 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe 
The Cloud, 81. 



INDEX OF AUTHORS 175 

SmitHj Samuel Francis 
America, 62. 

Stevenson, Robert Louis 

The Little Land, 164 ; Winter-Time, 7. 

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord 

The Brook, 16 ; The Charge of the Light Brigade, 107 ; 
Crossing the Bar, 163 ; The Death of the Old Year, 150 ; 
Flower in the Crannied Wall, 152 ; Sir Galahad, 160. 

Thaxter, Celia 

Maize, the Nation's Emblem, 76 ; The Sparrows, 30. 

Van Dyke, Henry 

The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet, 97. 

Wallace, William Ross 
The Sword of Bunker Hill, 59. 

Whittier, John Greenleaf 

Abraham Davenport, 142 ; Barbara Frietchie, 48 ; The 
Barefoot Boy, 19 ; The Corn-Song, 3 ; For an Autumn 
Festival, 146 ; The Huskers, 117 ; The Frost Spirit, 158 ; 
Ichabod, 159 ; King Solomon and the Ants, 84 ; The New 
Year, 152 ; Snow-Bound (Selections): The Kitchen Scene, 
33 ; The Mother, 86 ; The Schoolmaster, 89 ; The Sis- 
ters, 87 ; The Storm, 32. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Abraham Davenport (Whit- 
tier), 142. 

Abraham Lincoln (Bryant), 60. 

America (Smith), 62. 

American Flag, The (Drake), 
144. 

Barbara Frietchie (Whittier), 

48. 
Barefoot Boy, The (Whittier), 

19. 
Benjamin Franklin as a Boy 

(Hawthorne), 22. 
Bivouac of the Dead, The 

(O'Hara), 101. 
Blue and the Gray, The 

(Finch), 68. 
Brook, The (Tennyson), 16. 

Chambered Nautilus, The 
(Holmes), 148. 

Charge of the Light Brigade, 
The (Tennyson), 107. 

Children's Hour, The (Long- 
fellow), 7. 

Christmas Everywhere 

(Brooks), 58. 

Christmastide (Burton), 84. 

Cloud, The (Shelley), 81. 

Corn-Song, The (Whittier), 3. 

Crossing the Bar (Tennyson), 
163. 

Death of the Old Year, The 

(Tennyson), 150. 
Dutch Lullaby (Field), 26. 

First Snow-Fall, The (Lowell), 

5. 
Flower in the Crannied Wall 

(Tennyson), 152. 



For A' That, and A' That 
(Burns), 168. 

For an Autumn Festival (Whit- 
tier), 146. 

Frost Spirit, The (Whittier), 
158. 

Gluck's Visitor (First Visit) 
(Ruskin), 71. 

Huskers, The (Whittier), 117. 

Ichabod (Whittier), 159. 
I Remember, I Remember 
(Hood), 37. 

King Solomon and the Ants 
(Whittier), 84. 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers 
in New England, The (He- 
mans), 53. 

Leak in the Dike, The (Gary), 

Legend of the Crossbill, The 

(Longfellow), 96. 
Little Gottlieb (Gary), 54. 
Little Land, The (Stevenson), 

164. 

Maize, the Nation's Emblem 

(Thaxter), 76. 
March (Bryant), 9. 
My Native Land (Scott), 171. 

New Year, The (Whittier), 152. 

Oak, The (Lowell), 134. 
October's Bright Blue Weather 
(Jackson), 2, 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



177 



Ode Recited at the Harvard 
Commemoration (Lowell), 
120. 

Old Ironsides (Holmes), 35. 

Our Heroes (Gary), 36. 

Paul Revere's Ride (Longfel- 
low), 63. 

Present Crisis, The (Lowell), 
IIL 

Recessional, The (Kipling), 

Return of the Birds, The 

(Bryant), 166. 
Ruby-Crowned Kinglet, The 

(Van Dyke), 97. 

September (Jackson), 1. 

Seven Times One (Ingelow), 
46. 

Shepherd of King Admetus,The 
(Lowell), 109. 

Sheridan's Ride (Read), 51. 

Sir Galahad (Tennyson), 160. 

Snow-Bound (Whittier) (Selec- 
tions): The Kitchen Scene, 
33; The Mother, 86; The 
Scboolmaster,89; The Sisters, 
87; The Storm, 32. 

Song of the Chattahoochee 
(Lanier), 170. 

Sparrows, The (Thaxter), 30. 



Star-Spangled Banner, The 
(Key), 61. 

Story of Mondamin, The (Hia- 
watha), (Longfellow), 77. 

Sword of Bunker Hill, The 
(Wallace), 59. 

Those Evening Bells (Moore), 

134. 
To a Waterfowl (Bryant), 99. 
To the Dandelion (Lowell), 

136. 
To William Lloyd Garrison 

(Lowell), 138. 

Ugly Duckling, The (Ander- 
sen), 10. 

Village Blacksmith, The 
(Longfellow), 28. 

Voice of Spring, The (He- 
mans), 38. 

Washington (From Ode to Na- 
poleon Buonaparte), (By- 
ron), 91. 

Wendell Phillips (Lowell), 111. 

Winter-Time (Stevenson), 7. 

Wreck of the Hesperus, The 
(Longfellow), 92. 

Yellow Violet, The (Bryant), 

104. 
Yussouf (Lowell), 106. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



\y 



Henry Wads worth Longfellow . Frontispiece 

Craigie House, Cambridge .... 8 »^ 

John Greenleaf Whittier .... 20 

Kitchen in the Whittier Homestead . . 32 , 

William Cullen Bryant 60/" 

Whittier's Birthplace in Winter ... 86 

James Russell Lowell 110 

Elmwood, Cambridge 120 



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It. Selected Twice-Told Tales. New York Regents' Requirements. 

Geokge Parsons Lathrop. 
17, 18. Wonder-Book. Two parts, each, 
In one volume, 
121, 122. HAYNE, ROBERT YOUNG — WEBSTER, DANIEL. 
The Great Debate between Hayne and V^ebster on 
Foote's Resolution. Lindsay Swift. Two parts, each, 
In one volume, 
141. HIGGINSON, THOMAS WENTWORTH. Three Outdoor 

Papers. 
1*. HOLBROOK, FLORENCE. Hiawatha Primer. {Special No.) 
V. The Book of Nature Myths. {Special Number.) 
TJ. A Dramatization of The Song of Hiawatha. 
81. HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. The Autocrat of the 

Breakfast-Table. ( IViple Number.) 
6. Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, and Other Poems, 
31. My Hunt after the Captain, and Other Papers. 

No. 6 and No. 31 in one volume, 
JR. Holmes Leaflets. {Double Number.) Josephine E. Hodgdon. 
137. HOMER. Four Books of Bryant's Iliad : I, VI, XXII, XXIV. 
101. Four Books of Pope's Iliad: I, VI, XXII, XXIV. 

43. Ulysses among the Phseacians : Books VI, VII, VIII, and 

portions of Books V and XIII from Bryant's Odyssey. 

139 HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN. Doorstep Acquamtance, 

and Other Sketches. 
85. HUGHES, THOMAS. Tom Brown's School Days. {Triple 
Ntin-iber. ) 

155. IRVING, WASHINGTON. Life of Goldsmith. {Triple Num- 
ber^ Willis Boughton, Ph. D. 



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NUMBER PA. CLO. 

51, 53. Essays from the Sketch Book. Two parts, each, .15 

In one volume, .40 

S. Selected Essays from the Sketch Book. New York RegenU^ 

Requirements. {Double Nmnber.) Arthur Marvin, M. A. .30 .40 
327. KEATS, JOHN. Ode on a Grecian Urn, Eve of St. Agnes, 

etc. .15 

79. LAMB, CHARLES. Old China, and Other Essays of Elia. .15 

64, 65, 66. LAMB, CHARLES AND MARY. Tales from Shake- 
speare. Three parts, each, .15 
In one volume, .50 

32. LINCOLN, ABRAHAM. The Gettysburg Speech, etc. .15 

In one volume with Carl Schurz's Abraham Lincoln (No. 133), .40 

38. LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH. The Building 

of the Ship, The Masque of Pandora, and Other Poems. 
IX, The Children's Hour, and Other Poems. 
63. Paul Revere's Ride, and Other Poems. 
No. II and No. 63 in one volume, 
3. The Courtship of Miles Standish : Elizabeth. 
3. A Dramatization of The Courtship of Miles Standish 
X. Evangeline. 
146. Giles Corey of the Salem Farms. 
25, 26. The Golden Legend. S. A. Bent. Two parts, each, 

In one volume, 
F, Longfellow Leaflets. {Double No.) Josephine E. Hodgdon. 
C. A Longfellow Night. By Katharine A. G'Keeffe. 
13, 14. The Song of Hiawatha. Revised Edition. Two parts, each, 

In one volume, 
33» 34> 35« Tales of a "Wayside Inn. Three parts, each, 
In one volume, 

39. LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. Books and Libraries, etc. 
123. Democracy and Other Papers. 

No. 39 and No. 123 in one volume, 
iftt. A Fable for Critics. {Double Number.') 

O. Lowell Leaflets. {Double Number. ) Josephine E. Hodgdon. 
15. Under the Old Elm, and Other Poems 
30. Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other Poems. New Edition. Mrs. 

H. A. Davidson. 

102. MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON. Life of Samuel 

Johnson, and Essay on Goldsmith. William P. Trent. 

103. Essay on John Milton. William P. Trent. 

104. Life and Writings of Joseph Addison. William P. Trent. 

No. 103 and No. 104 in one volume, 

45. Lays of Ancient Rome. 
152. MARTINEAU, HARRIET. The Peasant and the Prince. 

{Dotible Number.) 
73. MILTON, JOHN. L' Allegro, II Penseroso, Comus, Lycidas, 

and Sonnets. 
94. Paradise Lost. Books I-III. 

No. 72 and No. 94 in one volume, 
A. MISCELLANEOUS. American Authors and their Birthdays. .15 
JB. Portraits and Biographical Sketches of Twenty American 

Authors. 
/. The Riverside Manual for Teachers. By I. F. Hall. 
/C. The Riverside Primer and Reader. {Special Number.) 
Jj. The Riverside Song Book. {Special Dotible Number.) 
N. Selections from the W^ritings of Eleven American Authors. 
Q. Selections from the W^ritings of Eleven English Authors. 
12. Studies in Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, Lowell. 
59. Verse and Prose for Beginners in Reading. 
129. MORE, PAUL ELMER. The Judgment of Socrates: A 

Translation of Plato's Apology, Crito, and the Closing 

Scene of Phaedo. .15 

46. OLD TESTAMENT STORIES. Old Testament Stories in 

Scripture Language. .15 
150. OUIDA (MDLLE. LOUISE DE L. RAMEE). A Dog of 

Flanders, and the Niirnberg Stove. .15 

114. PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON. Old Greek Folk Stories. .15 .25 

129. PLATO. The Judgment of Socrates. Paul Elmek More. .15 

X43. PLUTARCH. Alexander the Great. Norrh's Translation. .15 
119. POE, EDGAR ALLAN. The Raven,The Fall of the House 

of Usher, and other Poems and Tales. William P.Trent. .15 



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NUMBER PA. CLO. 

120. The Gold-Bug, The Purloined Letter,>nd Other Tales. Wil- 
liam P. Trent. .15 
No. ixg and No. 120, in one volume, * .40 

147. POPE, ALEXANDER. The Rape of the Lock, An Essay 
on Man, and Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. H. W. Boynton, A. M. 

101. Four Books of Homer's Iliad : I, VI, XXII, XXIV. 

142. RUSKIN,JOHN. Sesame and Lilies : I. Of Kings' Treasuries ; 
II. Of Queens' Gardens. 

126. RUSKIN, JOHN, AND OTHERS. The King of the Gol- 
den River ; and Other Wonder Stories. 

133. SCHURZ, CARL. Abraham Lincoln. 

In one volume, with Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech, and 
Other Papers (No. 32), 
86. SCOTT, SIR WALTER. Ivanhoe. {Quadruple Number .) 
53. The Lady of the Lake. {Double Number.) W. J. Rolfe, Litt. D. 

Also in Rolfe's Students' Series, to teachers, 

134. Lay of the Last Minstrel. {Double Number^ W. J. Rolfe, Litt.D. 

Also in Rolfe's Students' Series, to teachers, 
144. SCUDDER, HORACE E. The Book of Legends. 
47, 48. Fables and Folk Stories^ Two parts, each, 

In one volume, 
J). Literature in School. 

75. George W^ashington. {Double Number.) 
93. SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. As You Like It. 

106. Macbeth. Helen Gray Cone. 
116. Hamlet. {Double Number.) Helen Gray Cone. 
67. Julius Caesar. 

55. Merchant of Venice. Samuel Thurber. 

No. 55 and No. 67 in one volume, 

153. Midsummer Night's Dream. Laura E. Lockwood, Ph. D. . 
149. Twelfth Night. Helen Gray Cone. 

154. The Tempest. Edward Everett Hale, Jr., Ph.D. 
M. STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER. Dialogues and Scenes 

from Mrs. Stowe's W^ritings. Emily Weaver. 

88. Uncle Tom's Cabin. {Quadruple Number.) 
90. SWIFT, JONATHAN. Gulliver's Voyage to Brobdingnag. 

89. Gulliver's Voyage to Lilliput. 

No. 8q and No. go in one volume, 
16. TAYLOR, BAYARD. Lars: A Pastoral of Norway, etc. 
99. TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD. The Coming of Arthur, 

and Other Idylls of the King. 
73. Enoch Arden, and Other Poems. 
156. Gareth and Lynette, Lancelot and Elaine, The Passing of 

Arthur. 

111. The Princess. {Double Number.) W. J Rolfe. 

Also in Rolfe's Students' Series, to Teachers, .53 

140. THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE. Henry Es- 
mond. {Quintuple Number.) .60 .75 
27. THOREAU, HENRY DAVID. The Succession of Forest 

Trees, W^ild Apples, and Sounds. .15 

112. VIRGIL. The .^neid. Books I-III. Translated by Chris- 

topher Pearse Cranch. .15 

37. WARNER, CHARLES DUDLEY. A-Huntmg of the Deer, 

and Other Papers. .15 .25 

24. WASHINGTON, GEORGE. Rules of Conduct, Diary of 

Adventure, Letters, and Farewell Addresses. .15 .25 

56. WEBSTER, DANIEL. The First Bunker Hill Oration; 

and Adams and Jefferson. .15 .25 

70. WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF. A Selection from 

Child Life in Poetry. .15 

71. A Selection fiom Child Life in Prose. .15 

No. 70 and No. 71 in one volume. .40 

4. Snow- Bound, Among the Hill, Songs of Labor, etc. .15 .25 

5. Mabel Martin, Cobbler Keezar, Maud Muller, etc. .15 

No. 4 and No. 5 in one volume, .40 

€r. Whittier Leaflets. {Double Number.) Josephine E. Hodgdon. .30 .40 
41. The Tent on the Beach, and Other Poems. .15 

76. WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM. On the Intimations of Im- 

mortality, and Other Poems. .15 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



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